In His Glow
by Fanpire101
Summary: "Being his real brother I could feel I lived in his shadows, but I never have and I do not now. I live in his glow." A series of one-shots, each based on an episode. These are the moments we never got to see. Chapter 152: Heartache.
1. Engineering the Future

**A/N:** Hi everyone! So this is my second _Supernatural_ fic, though I have written a couple of other things on this wonderful site. So here's the thing: this is a bit of a project that I've started to keep myself writing even when I feel like I have nothing to say.

So here's the deal: I'm going to write one one-shot per episode. Sasha Snape says that I'm driving myself to drink, but so far it's been fairly smooth sailing. If you guys have any ideas about certain episodes, I'd be happy to hear them, but know that I've got a list of prompts for three quarters of the episodes, so I may not write your prompt. But I'd love to hear your ideas. Just, no Wincest or Destiel because I honestly don't ship either of them. Just brotherly love here!

Please let me know what you think! I'm excited for this, and already have a bunch of one-shots written already. I'm aiming to update every Tuesday, so please review so I know that I should continue!

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Supernatural. This is a work of fiction based on characters from The CW's _Supernatural_ , created by Eric Kripke.

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 _To completely plagiarize someone else, "Being his real brother I could feel I lived in his shadows, but I never have and I do not now. I live in his glow." Who said that? Why was his relationship with his brother so important? Doesn't matter. This isn't about him. This is about them, and the moments we don't get to see._

 **Engineering the Future**

Dean had imagined this day since that balmy July evening when a rickety tin door had slammed shut and seemingly separated his family forever.

Depending on his mood, there were several different scenarios that would play out. When he was at the bottom of his third bottle, he would imagine showing up at his front door, having him open the door, stare at him, then shut it again without a word. The second bottle was kinder, allowing them to pass on the streets, perhaps nodding at each other before the one went on with his normal life, leaving the other to thank a God that he didn't believe in that he had at least seen him one last time. The first bottle didn't give him enough hope to even attempt to dream up a reunion with his little brother.

The fourth bottle was Dean's favourite. He would get an excited phone call and drive all the way to Stanford just so that Sam could tell him he was getting married face to face. They would settle into a table at some hoity-toity bar or into a booth at some frou-frou café and would talk as though no time had passed. The natural lighting would fade to black and neither of them would move. Topics of conversation would wax and wane until they found themselves in the same companionable silence that graced the majority of their childhood together.

Sam would eventually sigh sadly and mutter something about having to be in court early the next morning, to which Dean would make a crude joke that would have Sam blushing behind the ears as he laughed. Dean would walk him to his car and deal with the chick-flicky hug bestowed upon him by a drunk and/or over-caffeinated Little Brother. As they pull apart, Sam would get all shy and red again as he stammered through saying that he hoped Dean would be his Best Man ( _because screw this Brady kid that introduced the happy couple_ ). Dean would laugh, hug his brother, completely deny the tears in his eyes, and say "Who else could fill those shoes, bitch?"

Dean would hang around in California for a couple of months and relish in being stationary for the first time since he was four. He would meet Jessica, automatically start calling her Jessie, and plan a small bachelor party for Sammy and his college pals before taking his kid brother on a kick ass, blow out 'Brochelor' party in Vegas to make up for every birthday, Christmas, and any other calendar holiday that they had missed out on. On the day of the wedding he would straighten out his brother's tie, all the while denying that he had asked the guy at the store how to do so. He would give the kid the picture of Mom that he carried around in his wallet with the explanation that she needed to be there with him on this day. He would stand up next to his little brother during the ceremony, give the most awesome speech ever written during the reception, and dance with his new sister-in-law when the time came.

While he and the other, less important guests waved the happy couple off (he had even given them the Impala to borrow for their honeymoon road trip up the Pacific Coast Highway) he would get a phone call from Dad, saying that he had finally pinned down the son of a bitch who had killed Mom, and that he needed his son there with him. Dean would hotwire a car and go. He'd stand side-by-side with his father as they ganked the sucker, turn, and shake his father's hand before walking away from the life.

He'd stand hat in hand on Sam's doorstep when they returned from their honeymoon, praying that his baby brother still had room for his older, less intelligent but far more handsome brother in his new married life. Sam would laugh and pull him into a hug, ensuring him that _of course_ he would always need his big brother. After all, he and Jessie apparently hadn't come home from their month-long vacation on their own, and this kid was gonna need a really cool uncle to bitch at when his/her parents were giving them a hard time. Any nephew of his was gonna be educated in the ways of the Impala, rock music, and the Dean Winchester Scale of Burger Perfection. Any niece of his would also be educated in these things, but he would need to be there more for Sam when the boys came snooping around, because what was more intimidating than two guys over 6-feet tall who had marksmen's abilities?

Dean would maybe become a cop, or a mechanic, or maybe even a firefighter, but one thing he would do for sure is protect his family. He'd gank any evil bastard that came within a thousand miles of that two story, white picket fenced house on Normal Boulevard.

Maybe he'd settle down, maybe not. All that was important to him was that his Sammy was happy.

That was all that would ever matter to him.

So, when it came down to it, Dean would have traded everything he had for it to have not happened like this. Never like this.

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Sam had imagined this day since that first night alone at Stanford.

At first, he'd dreamed that Dean would show up, kick his roommate out, and curl up in the twin bed approximately six feet away from him. Dean would go to the registrar and apply to the school and get in, obviously, because his big brother was a genius. He'd probably take engineering, because Dean could do things with machinery that Sam could never have dreamed about. They'd watch each other's backs on and off campus, and when one of the dorm rooms ended up being haunted, they'd take care of it, as though they had never been off the job. Dean would go on to open his own body shop, while working side projects like helping to rebuild homes for people who lost them in fires or natural (and supernatural) disasters. Sam would become a kick ass lawyer and help the law protect people. He'd help Dean on the weekends at the shop or with the houses, because they were brothers and why wouldn't he? They'd still go out and watch the stars when they could, and they'd make sure to go to the first game of every season for the Jayhawks. They'd make a weekend of it. Just Sam, Dean, and the Impala. Of course, Jess would be fine with it. She'd love Dean as much as he did, because what wasn't there to love? Eventually, he and Jess would get married and Dean would be his Best Man ( _even though Brady would throw a fit about it, but Dean was right, he was better off without douchebags like Brady in his life_ ), then go on to be the best uncle to the kids they would have. Dean would meet a nice girl and they'd settle down too, and soon it would be Winchester Weekends, filled with barbeques and Little League games and dance recitals and tinkering with the Impala while drinking a cold one together and hiding from their wives and kids.

A few months in, the dream changed. One of the kids in Sam's classes had a brother in the military, who surprised her by showing up during lecture wearing his fatigues and announcing that he had been honorably discharged and was staying home for good. She'd broken down into tears and hugged him until the professor had just wiped his eyes and dismissed the class, claiming that he didn't want to bring the room down by talking about the Battle of Yorktown in 1781.

Sam started imagining that something similar would happen to him. Dean and Dad would kill the thing that had killed Mom, then Dean would stroll right into his Economics class wearing his torn jeans, steel toed boots, band shirt and leather jacket (the uniform of one of the longest living hunters out there, and the youngest to boot), acting as though he owned the joint. Sam would launch himself into his brother's arms, not even minding that that cute girl Jessica sat only a few rows behind him, and bury his face in his brother's shoulder to hide his tears. Dean would clasp him around the back of his neck and whisper that he and Dad had gotten the damned thing, and that he was quitting the life. Dad would keep hunting with Uncle Bobby, Pastor Jim, and Caleb as back up when needed, but he was out.

Dean would help him hook up with Jessica, because he had seen the way they looked at each other, and Dean couldn't stand the lovesick puppy dog eyes anymore, then the rest of the daydream would stay the same. Engineering, lawyering, cars, court cases, house building, Jayhawks, star gazing, the Impala, wives, kids, all culminating in the two of them sitting side by side at some Old Folks Home, the lines between what they knew and what the world knew blurred by old age and one too many hard knocks to the head courtesy of any one of monsters of the week that they used to hunt. They'd sit on the front porch, drinking whatever alcohol they could get their hands on, loudly debating the proper way to kill a wendigo ( _Sam would say iron because he knows his big brother's mind is fading and he needs him to stick around a while longer because Jess was already gone and he wasn't quite ready to go and he doesn't want to be left alone, not again_ ).

No matter which scenario he dreamt up (defending Dean in court, forcing him into retirement when a werewolf gets the better of him and his left leg is basically useless so Sam brings him home with him, or even something as simple as Sam just picking up the phone and asking him to visit ( _because it's DEAN, and there's nothing he won't do for his little brother, and Sam knows it_ ), there was one common thread that remained the same, and that was that the time they had spent apart held no consequences. They would just fall back into being brothers, knowing that if they were back to back or side by side they would be fine.

That's why, when Dean bursts through the bedroom door and drags him out of the burning brownstone, Sam couldn't bring himself to fight at full strength. Dean was there. As much as Sam wished it had been any other scenario he had dreamt up (and not the nightmare that had been plaguing him for weeks), he knew that his big brother was there. And since when had there been any problem that Dean couldn't solve? He could've been an engineer, after all.

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 **A/N:** So there's the one-shot for Pilot! Oh, and the title of this series of one-shots comes from the quote above the title, which was actually said by Michael Morpurgo, author of _War Horse_ and many other works of literature. Please let me know what you think! See you guys next week!


	2. Now Starring

**A/N:** So this one is a tag to "Wendigo". As much as there were some really awesome broments in that one, I really wanted to focus in on what wasn't shown, mainly Jessica's funeral. Please enjoy!

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 **Now Starring**

Sam wasn't supposed to be this still, this quiet, this _broken_. Speaking as the man who taught him how to walk, Dean could say with certainty that his kid brother had barely stopped moving once he had found his land legs. Ever since he had managed that first word, " _De!_ ", he only stopped speaking and asking questions when he was asleep, but even then the kid had developed a nasty habit of talking in his sleep. Sam had always grumbled and turned red when Dean called him out on it, but Dean had never really minded the noise. Knowing that his brother was there, even in sleep, was like a blessing to a kid who had gone one too many sleepless nights trying to protect his kid brother from all the darkness that was outside of their motel room. The absence of that voice had taken some getting used to.

It was the silence that was the worst. After Dad had gone off in his truck a couple of weeks after Sam had gone off to Stanford ( _"We can cover more ground if we split up, Dean."_ ), the Impala had been too quiet, even with her rumbly engine and steady stream of classic rock. Sam had always been asking questions or complaining about having to move to another state, again. He had always been shifting those gigantic limbs of his, trying to get comfortable. When he had, his steady breathing had always been there, like white noise soothing Dean's stressed mind. Not having it there had kept him up at night. The room was too quiet, the car was too quiet, the girl sleeping next to him was breathing too loud.

Dean watched his listless brother as he stood next to Mr. Moore, solemnly greeting the long line of mourners who had turned up to cry over "the dead girl from Stanford". The kid looked like he was barely standing on his own two feet, and he was only speaking when spoken to.

It was driving Dean nuts. He didn't know where to even begin with fixing his brother, and that scared him. Four years apart meant that there were a few more pages to the Book of Sam that he was unfamiliar with, and Sam seemed to be trying to keep it that way. Dean got it, he did. Being a closed book was helpful for situations like this, when you were trying to keep the world from seeing the shattered remains of your heart. But Dean _needed_ to read those pages to be able to start fixing his brother. He didn't know if chicken soup was still Sam's go-to when he was feeling crappy, or how many shots of whiskey would make him pass out cold for the night.

Dean was the big brother. He was supposed to know this stuff about his younger brother. He was supposed to be able to help, and yet, gazing around the large reception hall that Jessica's wake was being held at, he had never felt more useless than he did at that moment. He was completely out of his depth.

Surprisingly, it was the first funeral that Dean had been to since he was 4. Living the life he did, there should have been two dozen more under his belt, but apparently flying solo had its perks. Still, he had had a 22 year drought on the funeral front, and he didn't even really count his Mom's funeral because he couldn't remember much of it. All he could really remember was sitting on a stone bench with Baby Sammy in his arms, and growling at all the nosy neighbours who tried to touch his brother. It didn't matter to him who it was. The Pastor, his kindergarten teacher, especially Ms. Chancey, that mean old hag. They came within 50 feet of his baby brother, they got growled at.

The instinct hadn't left him, even if it was a lifetime later. He was surrounded by people he didn't know and couldn't care less about, save for one. Other Stanford students, professors, and Jessica's relatives milled around him, and whenever they came too close to Sam, or tried to put a hand on his shoulder, Dean felt like growling at him. He actually did growl at that Brady kid, but he did it low enough so that Sam couldn't hear. There was just something about that guy that gave him the creeps. He had to constantly remind himself that he only hunted monsters, and that humans were off limits, no matter how douchy they seemed.

Dean picked up a cracker and nibbled on it. Dean was pretty sure that at least half the people milling about had no idea who they were supposed to be mourning, and those were the ones that he wanted to growl at the most, because they were the ones giving the "At least she's in a better place" speeches to his brother.

"Friggin' cattle," he scoffed, tossing three-quarters of his cracker into the trash bin.

"It's so sad, isn't it?" Dean turned to look at the girl standing next to him. She was pretty, wearing a black dress that contrasted with her pale skin. She was dabbing at her eyes with a tissue, though it wasn't doing much good as her tears were still streaming down her face. Dean grunted non-committedly, keeping the corner of his eye on Sam. "I'm Lin; Jessica was my roommate before she moved in with her boyfriend. How did you know Jess?"

Dean paused, considering lying just to get rid of this chick. If it had been any other day, he would have been all for taking her home and making her forget for a little while, but he wasn't playing Dean the Philandering Hunter today. No, today Dean Winchester was starring in the role of Big Brother Dean, and he needed to put 110 percent into it. Sammy needed him, and it wasn't like last time. He couldn't just bundle his little brother up in his arms and run into the woods surrounding the cemetery like he had when Dad's second cousin or whatever had tried to pluck the kid out of his protector's arms. The kid needed him to be present, to protect him when the emotions of the day got to be too much, and to tell Brady the Douchebag to hit the road when he had tried to give the whole "Time heals all wounds" speech.

In the end, Big Brother Dean figured it would be easier to tell the truth. "I didn't."

Lin stared at him, tears coming to a halt as she glowered up at him. "Then what the hell are you doing here? You know, you people are leeches! Jessica's family and friends are going through hell right now, and you're here because you think you had some connection to her because you go to the same school! They— _we —_ don't need you here, bearing false platitudes about how _time heals all wounds ,_ or _she's in a better place_! You make me sick! You couldn't even dress up a little, to make it look like you actually give a damn about her! She wouldn't want you here! Jessica—"

" _Dean_?" The quiet, tearful, near-whimpering voice cut through the ex-roommate's tirade like a knife, and Dean whirled his head around to see Sam coming towards him, looking like he had been KO'd by Tyson twice but was still trying to keep going.

"Yeah, buddy? What is it?" Dean's concern leaked into his voice, successfully shutting Lin up.

"Can we—" Sam coughed as he tried to keep his tears at bay. "Can we go back to the motel please? I don't think I can handle any more of this today."

Dean wrapped his arm around Sam's shoulders. Sam practically sagged into his brother, allowing him to take most of his weight while still appearing to be supporting himself on his own two feet.

"Yeah Sammy, we can go," Dean replied quietly, completely aware that Lin was watching them. "Is there anybody you want to say goodbye to before we leave?" Sam shook his head morosely, and Dean mentally grimaced. He had never seen the kid so worn out, and he was desperate to do anything that could possibly bring even a fraction of a smile to Sam's face.

"Okay. Nice meeting you," he growled at Lin as he led Sam out the front door into the bright sunlight. He stood slightly in front of Sam so that it looked like Sam was exiting without assistance, but also so that he could elbow people out of the way.

He would be whatever Sam needed him to be. He would be a crutch, he would force feed him junk food, and would pour an entire bottle of whiskey down his throat to get him to sleep. He would be a shoulder to cry on, and soothe the nightmares that were sure to come. It wasn't enough, but it was a start. And Dean wouldn't give up, because he was a big brother and this is the role he was born to play.

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 **A/N:** Please review! I really want to know what you guys think!


	3. bravery, n

**A/N:** Thanks to celinenaville and Sasha Snape for the reviews. Thanks to all those who read, but didn't review. I will beg that you review, even if you don't like it because constructive criticism is better than nothing. This one is tagged to episode 3, _Dead in the Water_. The dialogue in italics comes directly from the show. Hope you guys enjoy! Please review!

 **Disclaimer:** Not mine. Never will be. I can dream though.

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 **bravery, n.**

Dean and the Impala were pretty much the only constants throughout Sam's childhood. Different motels, different schools, in different states had taken the place of a stable, stationary home. But the smooth rolling of the Impala, paired with Dean's cool presence, had always kept him calm while zig-zagging across the continental U.S. By the time he was 15, he had been to 48 of the 50 states. While he had always hated the constant moving around, the wide breadth of places he had been was one of the perks.

When Sam had left for Stanford, Dean had let him go without too much of a fight. He had driven Sam to the airport (they had been working a werewolf case in Maine, so a bus ticket cost almost as much as a plane ticket, but would've taken a heck of a lot longer), given him all the cash he had on him, made him promise to lay the salt lines and call him when he landed, given him a hug and pushed him through the airport doors. Sam had never really considered how much his brother had given up by letting him go to school, but he knew it had to have been difficult, considering how long it took him to adjust to not having his big brother to fall back on when times got tough.

Even before that, Sam had registered, but not fully recognized, how much his brother gave up, and how brave it was of him to do so. The sleepless nights watching over Sam, with a gun pointed at the door, because Dad was on a hunt or on a binge or just plain _gone_. Running out of food quicker than expected; Dean taking the lesser portion size because Sam needed to eat more. Dean taking on small jobs within the motel to make extra cash so that Sam could go on field trips. Dean keeping the secret of what Dad actually hunted so as to not scare Sam, then fighting with their Dad to keep Sam from hunting for as long as humanly possible. It was the only time Dean and Dad ever disagreed, and Sam could only acknowledge, not understand, how brave it was of his brother to stand up to their father, his _hero_ , on his little brother's behalf.

Dean gave up _everything_ for Sam, of that he was sure. At first he thought that it was just something that big brothers did, but then Luis had told him that his big brother snaked his prom date, crashed his car, and stole from him when he wasn't pretending that Luis didn't exist. This behavior was then confirmed to be the norm, though not to such extremes, when Jess told him that she and her older brother barely spoke when he graduated elementary school because they had a five-year difference between the two of them, so he was in and out of high school before she even made it to the ninth grade. Then Brady told him that his older brother ignored him when he was around, unless he wanted to practice his wrestling moves on a living dummy. Needless to say, Sam soon realized that it was just something _Dean_ did. Dean made sure Sam had enough to eat. Dean made sure Sam had clean clothes to wear. Dean made sure Sam got to school on time, and did his homework. All because Dad was never around long enough to do it himself. The realization caused an even further rift between him and his father ( _not that the echo of "If you leave, don't bother to come back" didn't accomplish that on its own_ ), but also caused the return of that bright hero-worship light into Sam's eyes whenever he looked at his brother.

But really, Sam had never really considered how truly brave Dean was until now. Dean's words to Lucas from earlier in the day echoed in his head.

" _You're scared. It's okay. I understand. See, when I was your age, I saw something real bad happen to my mom, and I was scared too. I didn't feel like talking, just like you. But see, my mom—I know she wanted me to be brave. I think about that every day. And I do my best to be brave. And maybe, your dad wants you to be brave too._ "

Sam had seen Dean run full-speed ahead into fights against spirits and demons, werewolves and ghouls, wraiths and reapers, and every other God forsaken creature on the planet with a smile on his face. Sam had seen Dean go head to head with Dad, Bobby, Caleb, Pastor Jim, Martin, and every other hunter they had ever come across, all on Sam's behalf. Sam had watched Dean fight back tears and fumble with his words when he dropped him off at the airport to Stanford, never once trying to take a stand and make him stay, because Sam thought his education was the best thing for him, and Dean would never be able to refuse his little brother anything.

Sam had never taken into account the sheer bravery it took to do the things Dean did, both on the job and off. He had never thought about where the strength to carry both his father and his brother on his back came from, only acknowledging the difficulty of the spine-bending task when Dad took advantage of Dean's ability to seemingly handle anything.

Despite never fully being able to understand the sheer weight of the responsibilities that Dean undertook, Sam had always, _always_ seen his big brother as a hero. Dad may have been the one driving the car, but Dean had been the navigator that kept them all from driving off a cliff. Dean kept them together for as long as he could, until he had to accept that things would be better, if not better for him then better for his brother, and let his family splinter off into different directions. Dean was the one Sam could always go to, without fear of judgement. That made him Sam's hero; that made Dean the pinnacle of humanity in Sam's eyes, something to be aspired to.

But it also scared Sam. It scared him to think of the years they had been apart, because Dean was never really _Dean_ unless he was looking after his family. It scared him to think that, one day, his bravery would cost him his life. It terrified Sam to think that, one day, he may have to live without the steady presence of his brother by his side.

So Sam waited, breathless and shivering, for Dean to break through the surface of the water. It may have sounded heartless, but he would be fine even if Dean wasn't able to save Lucas, because it would mean that Dean was still alive. They had only been hunting together again for a couple of months. It wasn't enough time to mend the damage that had been done by four years of separation. It wasn't enough time to properly thank the man who had sacrificed continuously for his brother's happiness. In the end, Sam doubted if there would ever be enough time.

But when Dean's head finally breached the murky depths of Lake Manitoc, with Lucas in tow, Sam could finally breathe again. He still had time.

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 **A/N:** Well, there it is. Hope you enjoyed! Please review!


	4. The Flip Side of Freedom

**A/N:** Another week, another one-shot. Thanks to celinenaville and NightReader22 for reviewing the last one, and to all of you who read it and didn't review. So this one's based on episode 4, _Phantom_ _Traveller_. I just find it so interesting that Dean's afraid of flying, what with the Winchester men having that beautiful Impala at their disposal and therefore probably didn't have much occasion to fly. So I was trying to come up with a circumstance that would scare Dean enough to be afraid of flying without having him actually step foot on the plane. Hope you guys like it!

 **Disclaimer:** All Hail Creator Kripke, and everyone over at the CW for bringing season 12 on! Woohoo! So excited! But yeah, still not mine.

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 **The Flip Side of Freedom**

In the Winchester World of Hunting, money was a luxury not often easy to come by. Credit card fraud was a risky business, hustling even more so depending on what you value more, your freedom or your life. Diners, dives, and fast food chains were staples in their particular way of life because they were cheap, easy, and accessible. When John Winchester bought his truck, it was more for convenience sake than anything else because his boys were too big to share the backseat when there were no more motels in sight, and splitting up for hunts ensured that double the amount of people would be saved per week. Bullets were handmade when time allowed for it, guns were often well taken care of hand-me-downs from other hunters who could spare them, motels were chosen for cost, not cleanliness.

Planes did not fit in to the Winchester Economic Savings Plan. Back when Mary was alive, they had taken Dean on one plane trip to Washington State for the funeral of one of John's old Marine buddies. Surprisingly, Dean had been quiet on the flight, especially considering he was only two at the time. On the flight back, they had hit some turbulence, and Dean had cried until the plane touched ground again. But he had never really shown any aversion to flying since.

When Sam got into Stanford, they had been working a case in Maine. A couple of werewolves, and there was evidence of a poltergeist haunting a nearby apartment complex, so Dad had rented some run-down house out in the middle of nowhere. Dad had basically just disowned his youngest son, but they were still thousands of miles away from Stanford, and a bus ticket would cost nearly as much as a plane ticket, so Uncle Bobby wired Sammy the cash to buy a one-way ticket to California. So the responsibility to keep Sam safe for as long as possible landed on, of course, Dean.

The drive to the local airport was short and silent. Not even the soft growl of the Impala's engine could break the growing tension between the two boys.

Sam wanted to explain. It wasn't about getting away from Dean; he would rather stay in this drawn-out suicide attempt of a lifestyle than be separated from one of the only people who ever gave a damn about what he wanted. If he could—if he thought it would make any difference, or had half a snowball's chance in Hell of working—he would ask Dean to come with him. He needed Dean to understand, to approve of what he was doing. He needed Dean's permission to leave, even if that permission didn't come in so many words.

The sign directing them to the Bangor International Airport came into view. The desperation rose in his throat as he blinked back tears. He didn't want to leave without clearing the air with Dean. This wasn't the way it was supposed to happen! He had hoped that his father would grudgingly accept Sam's leaving for college before ordering Dean to take Sam to California. A road trip with his brother would clear the air, and they could get some kicks in before going their separate ways. Then Sam would meet up with them for Thanksgiving, then again at Christmas, then Spring Break. He'd spend his summer with them, researching the hunts they were going on because, even though he hated hunting, he hated the idea of his brother and father going out there unprepared even more.

It was never supposed to be permanent.

But his words caught in his throat. Dean was staring stoically out the windshield as he navigated the twisting roads towards the proper terminal. What with his no chick-flick rule, and the stony look on his face, Sam didn't know what to say to make it all better. That had always been Dean's territory, anyway. Dean was never really one for words, but when he used them, he always knew the exact right thing to say. Sam could do that with strangers, witnesses, grieving family members, but when it came to his big brother, it seemed like he always put his foot in his mouth.

Dean parked in the red zone outside of the terminal. Sam shuffled out of the car and grabbed his duffle bag out of the backseat. The two brothers stood facing each other on the cement outside of the airport. Just as Sam opened his mouth to say something, _anything_ , Dean coughed to clear his throat.

"You got your plane ticket?" he asked. Sam patted his pocket, feeling the paper wrinkle within it, before nodding. Dean nodded, looking at some point in the distance on Sam's left. He seemed to shake himself before pulling out his wallet, opening it, and pulling out a wad of twenty dollar bills. "Here," he grunted, grasping Sam's hand and placing what had to be over $500 in it.

"Dean, I—"

"Shaddup and take it." A small smirk pulled at the corners of Dean's mouth as he finally looked his kid brother in the eyes. The duo considered each other for a long moment. Sam tried to work up the courage to say what was on his mind: that he would miss Dean, that he was so God damn thankful for everything Dean had ever done for him, that he hoped they would keep in touch despite his falling out with Dad, that he wasn't sure that he would be able to do this without his rock and hero by his side, that he was scared, that he didn't want to go without Dean.

Dean's rough voice cut through Sam's unsettling thoughts like they cut through his every nightmare. "Make me a promise, Sam?" A deadly glint flickered in his eyes. At Sam's nod, he continued. "Lay the salt lines. Don't roll your eyes at me, kid! I know you're going off to college to become some Joe Normal, but you won't get the chance if you're dead. Just do it. Who the hell cares if your roommate thinks you're a superstitious hillbilly? You'll be saving his hide as much as your own…Sam?" Sam nodded again, unable to deny his brother this last request. "Good."

Dean pulled Sam into a gruff hug, slapping him on the back a few times. Sam gripped the lapels of Dean's worn leather jacket, terror sinking in at the thought that he would be on his own for the first time ever. Even in Flagstaff he had known that Dean would come for him eventually.

"Thanks De'," he choked out, blinking back tears. He had seen this scene play out in a dozen different movies on TV, but, God, if he had known that his normal would be this painful, he would have definitely found another way.

"Don't go bein' a bitch now, Sammy. Go show those Ivy League eggheads just how smart you are." Dean smiled brightly at him, but Sam was just as adept at reading Dean as Dean was at reading Sam. Dean was struggling with his words. Dean wanted to tell him something. Sam waited, half-hoping that maybe Dean would ask him to stay, half-thinking that, if he did, Sam would say yes. "Now get going." Dean's voice never wavered, but Sam could see dangerous thoughts swimming like sharks in the green sea of his brother's eyes.

Sam sighed internally before hoisting his duffle onto his shoulder and turning away from his brother, a chill running through him as he did. Who knew when they would see each other again? Dean had been hunting for 12 years, and had about as many near-death experiences. Who would patch him up when he got hurt? Who would fight with Dad to try and get him to give Dean a break between missions? Would the next time he heard from Dad be a message saying that his brother had gotten himself killed because nobody had been watching his back?

"Sammy?" The soft voice had him whirling around, nearly clocking an old woman in the head with his duffle as she passed by. Dean was standing beside the Impala, hands dug deep into his pockets. He seemed to fight with himself for a moment before sagging in defeat. "Just…give me a call when you land, alright?"

Sam nodded morosely, turning his back once more on his brother. He straightened his back and held his head up high as he strode through the double doors into the airport, not once looking back at his elder brother.

* * *

" _Flight 886 from Bangor International Airport to San Francisco International Airport went down over Lake Michigan today due to engine failure. So far eight passengers have been reported dead at the scene, while another 42 passengers have been rushed to Northern Michigan Hospital for treatment. No word yet as to how this tragic accident occurred—_ " Dean wrenched the steering wheel to the side as the Impala skidded over to the shoulder of the road. He was barely able to scramble out the passenger side door before losing his lunch into the gravel at his feet. He held onto the guardrail as the force of it nearly knocked him to his feet.

As soon as he felt like he wasn't going to spew all over the upholstery, he collapsed back into the car and fumbled for his phone, legs hanging out the passenger door. With shaky fingers, he typed Sam's number in, having to restart a few times because his fingers weren't cooperating with him.

"Come on, Sammy. Pick up, pick up, pick up!" he grumbled. Damn him for not having Sam write down his friggin' flight number before! If the stupid kid had just given him more of a heads up, maybe he wouldn't be imagining the worst right now!

But Dean couldn't blame Sam. He hadn't told Dean because he was afraid that he would react like their father had reacted. Dean knew he wouldn't be able to look directly into John's eyes for a while because of the things he had said about Sam, _to_ Sam. No, Dean could only blame himself. He _had_ known that Sam had gotten into Stanford. He'd found the letter. He'd found the bank receipt showing that Mr. R. Singer had wired Sam a crap load of money. He'd found the letter congratulating Sam on his full ride. He just hadn't had the balls to bring it up. He'd imagined that, if he just ignored it, Sam wouldn't go away. Lot of good that had done…

" _The number you are trying to reach is currently unavailable. Please—_ " The tinny voice was cut off as Dean snapped his phone shut.

"Dammit!" Dean kicked at the guardrail, pissed that it was just out of his reach.

The kid had been out of his sight for just over 3 hours, and this is what happened. Dean felt a jolt of panic settle into his spine at the thought of the plane going down, Sam all alone in his seat. Dean should have been there with him. He should've fought against Dad, driven Sam all the way to California himself. Sammy should never have gotten onto that plane. He should have been safe with his family, with both feet on the ground.

Dean sat there on the side of the road for what felt like mere minutes, but was around an hour. Every time a plane passed overhead, he flinched. Thousands of lives floating above him, left at the mercy of two dudes and the elements. He would never get on a plane. He needed to be in control: of his own safety, of people's safety, and of Sam's safety. Nobody would ever be able to do the job as well as he could.

His familiar guitar rift ringtone cut through the silence. Dean shakily flipped the phone open and pressed answer. He coughed to clear his throat. "Uh, yeah?"

" _Hey Dean, sorry it took so long. We just landed and I was talking to another Stanford student who was on the same flight. Apparently one of the flights from Bangor to San Fran went down over Lake Michigan. I was actually considering getting a ticket for that flight but I went with the arrival in San Jose instead, thank God!_ " Sam chuckled over the phone, completely unaware that his brother was coming down from a near panic attack on the other end of the conversation.

Dean sighed in relief, pressing the receiver of the phone to his forehead so that Sam couldn't hear his breathing. Hopefully his heartbeat would go back to normal when he turned 50.

" _Dean? DEAN!_ "

"Yeah, sorry about that pal. Dropped the phone accidentally and I'm driving. Thanks for checking in."

" _No problem,_ " Dean heard a voice call Sam's name in the background. " _Hey Dean? Luis said that they're unloading the luggage, so I'm gonna have to let you go so I can grab my bag._ "

"Alright, Sammy. You guys have a ride from the airport to the school?"

" _Yeah, we're gonna split a taxi. Why Dean? You gonna come all the way out here just to drive us?_ " Dean couldn't help the grin that graced his features at Sam's teasing tone.

"Nah pal, you know me. Gotta look out for my pain in the ass little brother."

Sam laughed. " _Alright Dean, I gotta go. I'll talk to you soon, okay?_ "

Dean nodded. "Yeah, alright kid. Give me a call once you're all settled in."

" _Will do. And Dean? Thanks. For everything._ " Dial tone rang through the connection before Dean could respond.

Dean yanked the door of the Impala closed as he resettled himself in the driver's seat. Everything would be okay. Sam was a smart kid; he'd do well in school. Sam could take care of himself, he and Dad had made sure of it. He and Dad would be fine. It would probably be easier to hunt as a duo rather than a trio anyways; neither of them would have one eye on Sam the whole time. But Dean would never step foot on a plane. Of that he was freaking positive.

* * *

 **A/N:** So there's that. I know a lot of people write about Sam going to Stanford on a bus, but we all know that the only thing that could scare Dean that badly is something that relates to Sam's safety. Oh, and the title comes from a quote by Marilyn Ferguson, who said that "The other side of every fear is freedom." I figured, why not tie Dean's fears over Sam going to school and leaving him to Dean's fear of flying? I hope it worked out.

Please review!


	5. Enough

**A/N:** Happy Spring everybody! Much love to NightReader22, celinenaville, and Danae for reviewing. Thanks to everyone who read but didn't review. I'll make another plea for reviewers, just because I love knowing what you guys think.

So, this one is a tag to episode 5 _Bloody Mary_. Not sure how I feel about this one because I feel like it's been done before. I can only hope that I added enough of my own writing style to it to make the theme seem new. The title is a callback to Lin-Manuel Miranda's _Hamilton_. The lyric "You would smile, and that would be enough" is amazing, and really speaks to the relationship in the musical. If you haven't listened to the _Hamilton_ soundtrack, I highly recommend it. Except, for the sake of your dignity, don't listen to it in public. I'm a social pariah on my bus route because I made the mistake of listening to it on the bus and wept the entire time.

 **Disclaimer** : Not mine.

* * *

 **Enough**

Sam had always been prone to nightmares. As a kid, he'd had them about normal stuff, like kids laughing at him on the first day of school, or losing a favourite toy. He'd had them about clowns, even after he was told what was actually out there in the dark. When those bad dreams had him bolting upright in the uncomfortable motel bed, Dean only had to rub his back a little and tell him that everything would be fine. Those were the simpler times, when a brother's promise could make the world seem like a brighter, happier place.

When Sam turned eight, and Dean was forced to spill the secret of Dad's job, the nightmares got a little harder to soothe, though it wasn't impossible. Again, it only took a simple promise that Dean wouldn't let anything hurt his little brother to send Sam packing back into Dreamland.

Not long after Dad's big secret became general knowledge, Dean went on his first hunt. It seemed that the days of simple promises being a fix-all were on their way out the door, as Sam's nightmares no longer starred evil killer clowns trying to kill his father while Dean stood in front of Sam to protect him. No, now Dean had taken Dad's place and Sam was old enough to know that promises didn't mean anything when the deal-maker was dead. Still, it wasn't until Dean was knocked out by a ghost and held in the hospital for three days with a concussion that Dean realized that he wouldn't be able to stave off his brother's nightmares forever. When he'd come to, Sam had bags under his eyes and was as pale as the son of a bitch who had landed Dean in the hospital in the first place. Not even the promise that he was okay was enough to get Sam to relax.

After that, the struggle to get Sam to settle down after nightmares became a long and difficult task. Dean would sit up for over an hour, talking Sam down and making promises he wasn't sure he could keep. He'd tell him stories about their Mom, quiet enough so that Dad wouldn't hear and wake up. Dean's young mind only knew that being there for his brother would help put him back to sleep.

The weekly nightmare ritual stopped when Sam hit teenage years. Not because the nightmares stopped, but because Sam stopped going to Dean for help controlling them. Dean would still wake up when Sam's breathing changed, and he would lie there until he could physically hear Sam go back to sleep. Then he would sigh, and roll over to face his brother, keeping guard over Sam until daybreak.

But these nightmares were a whole different ballpark. These weren't just Sam's hyperactive imagination coming up with every possible gory and explicit detail it could to torment the kid. They were, in reality, filled with a vivid memory of the moment that Sam's new life had been destroyed. And Dean didn't know how to stop them. He didn't know how to keep Sam from replaying the memory of finding his girl on the ceiling of their apartment.

He knew he was still playing catch up with Sam. The kid had changed so much over the past four years (two since he had seen him last) that Dean was working with an outdated handbook regarding Sam's care and well-being. The last experience he had with taking care of Sam was from when the kid was 17 and sick with strep.

Dean would have smacked the steering wheel if it wouldn't have woken Sam up. He was frustrated, borderline exhausted, and he hadn't gotten out of the car yet because he didn't want to leave Sam alone in case a nightmare did hit. They had just gotten into Toledo and Dean parked the car in a random, half deserted parking lot so that he could read up on their new case. Sam was, thankfully, sound asleep in the passenger seat, curled in on himself with his head resting against the window. It was the longest Sam had slept since Jessica's funeral, but that wasn't saying much since he had only been asleep for around 45 minutes.

Suddenly, Sam bolted upright, sucking in a deep breath. Dean calmly watched as his brother registered his surroundings. Sam placed his hands on the dashboard as he caught his breath.

"I take it I was having a nightmare," he said once his heartrate had calmed slightly, trying to brush off Dean's concern.

"Yeah, another one."

Sam sighed, knowing that Dean was worried about him. But there was nothing either of them could do. The nightmares were coming more frequently and, considering how long they had been plaguing him, they didn't seem like they would be going away any time soon.

"Hey, at least I got some sleep," Sam replied defensively. It was progress at least. He had gone days without sleep after the funeral, until Dean got pissed and shoved a bottle of pain killers and a bottle of whiskey at him. Swallowing his usual tirade about how booze and meds shouldn't be mixed, Sam had taken a couple of the pills and washed them down with about a third of the bottle. Dean had had to wake him mid-afternoon the next day. Dean should be happy that he was sleeping without the assistance of mild narcotics and alcohol.

"You know, sooner or later we're going to have to talk about this."

Sam knew. He knew that Dean only had his best interests at heart, but he didn't even know where to begin. How do you tell your brother that you were dreaming of your girlfriend's death, in the exact manner that it happened, _before_ you found her burning up on the ceiling with her stomach ripped open? Sam was scared, _terrified_ , of what his brother would think of him when he found out about the dreams. Dean and the thought of revenge against the SOB who had killed Jess and Mom were the only two things keeping Sam breathing, and he knew that the whole revenge thing would only get him so far. He couldn't tell Dean for fear that his brother would leave him flat, or, worse, think he was dangerous. Sam didn't know why or how he was having these dreams, but he knew that it was nothing good. And there was nothing Dean could do about them.

Still…

Watching Dean outsmart and kill Bloody Mary, the physical embodiment of his nightmares, gave Sam hope. His brother couldn't fix everything, not like he used to be able to in his little brother's eyes, but Sam knew that Dean would use every tool at his disposal to do what he could to help his brother, even if he didn't know what exactly he was protecting his brother from. Just knowing that someone was there in the middle of the night when he wrenched himself awake was enough for Sam. That that someone was the brother he had missed over the past four years? That was even better.

* * *

 **A/N:** Healthy dose of brotherly love for all of you. Hope you enjoyed. Drop me a line and let me know what you thought! See you next week!

Oh, and all my thoughts and prayers going out to Brussels, Ankara, and any other place in the world going through turmoil right now.


	6. Perspective

**A/N:** Here we go again. Not gonna lie, I almost forgot about this one before I realized that tomorrow is Winchester Wednesday. Anyway, I liked this one when I first wrote it. I thought it would be nice to play with the point of view a little bit, so it's not from Sam or Dean's POV, but features them heavily (as all my one-shots do). I was a little disappointed with the review count for the last one, though I fully admit that it was not my best work. I hope this one will be more up to your (and my) standards. Thanks to celinenaville for reviewing, and for all of you who read but did not review. Enjoy!

 **Disclaimer:** All recognizable dialogue, scenarios, and characters belong to The CW and Eric Kripke. God bless 'em!

* * *

 **Perspective**

This guy sucks. No seriously, he does. I thought that his would be a nice form to take on for a while, maybe even keep permanently if I can keep my shedding in control. And it was nice…for a while. The guy is tall (not as tall as that sasquatch of a brother of his, but I don't think anyone needs to be _that_ tall), and built. The few girls I've seen since I took his shape have definitely stopped and stared. It felt _nice_! Growing up the way I did, left alone by my family after I shed for the first time and raised by circus freaks, it was nice not to be stared at like I was some sort of monster.

But that's where the pleasure of the form ended. Like, I thought I had issues. This guy Dean is a walking, talking bag of Daddy, Mommy, and family issues!

The hatred and love he feels for his father is 50/50. He loves the man who raised him because he knew that 'Dad' was doing the best he could. He remembers the man who played catch with him, and read stories to him, and let him tinker with that kick-ass classic car when he was just a kid. He also remembers how his Dad was after the fire that killed 'Mom', how he told him point blank that a monster had killed his mother and tried to take Precious Baby Sammy away from them. He loves him for his protective instinct, the way he would give his life for his sons, and the way he seems to be unbeatable. But he hates him too. He hates the pressure that he has felt since he was four, the pressure to take care of Sam. It's not even that he hates having to take care of Sam, it's the way 'Dad' seems to think that he can't do the job properly without being reminded of the few times he's screwed it up every time 'Dad' leaves for a new job. He hates that his Dad had pushed Sam into the life of a hunter, even when Dean had always fought hard to keep Sam as innocent as possible. He hates the words that 'Dad' yelled at Sam before he left for Stanford. He hates all the nights he had had to put his father back together again, always terrified of the blood and bone and alcohol that came after a hunt. He hates that his 'Daddy' is gone, and 'Dad' is all that remains, all because some stupid sonofabitch (his term, not mine) had dared to enter their home and kill their mother.

The Mommy issues are very closely tied to the issues he has with his Precious Baby Sammy. With 'Mom', he hates that she's gone and nothing he does will ever bring her back. He loves all the memories he has of being with her. He hates that Sam never got to have any of those memories.

That gigantor of a brother of his is the biggest pain in the ass that's ever come with a new form. The wives and girlfriends and mothers and sisters and daughters and mistresses that I've ended up with memories of have nothing on the avalanche of memories that friggin' assaulted me when I took on this form. It's as if Dean saved every freaking memory of Sam over the years. Every argument, every little token of gratitude, every dawn of playing "Which role does Sammy need me to play today?" had been engraved on his mind, and it's damn near killing me! Even when I was just talking to the kid in my home, the assault of memories almost put me on my knees!

The things I said to him…I'm not sure if they were coming from me or from him. He did have dreams when he was younger, but he knew that the most important thing he had to do was look after his geeky baby brother and glue his father back together when the cracks began to appear. He probably would've been able to get into school for some sort of mechanics or electrical program. Being inside his head, the level of repressed intelligence is almost as painful as the memories of being left behind. Mom died, Sam took off to school and never really looked back, Dad just up and left a few weeks later and has only checked in by phone ever since. And yet, he still loves his family. He's still willing to kick my ass if I lay a finger on his kid brother.

Fighting the kid at the girl's house, it's almost as if his memories are prohibiting me from doing any real damage. With my strength, the kid should have been bleeding out or unconscious by now, but it's almost as if protecting of its kid brother is written on this body's bones. I'm still able to get some good shots in, knocking the kid into the bookshelf, then the coffee table.

I focus all of my energy on strangling Sam, willing _my_ hands and muscles ( _not Dean's_ ) to squeeze the life out of this guy who has made my life even more of a living Hell over the past 36 hours than it has been in a long time.

"Hey!"

I turn a fraction of an inch to the side and am met with two silver bullets to the heart. It burns like lava in my veins.

I watch sluggishly as Dean approaches and rips the amulet off my neck. I'm almost dead; I can feel Purgatory calling to me as the silver pumps further and further into my bloodstream.

With my last moments, I watch Dean approach Sam and ensure that he is okay. The girl is sitting back as the big brother does his job.

To anyone else, it must seem as though Dean worships his father, misses his mother, and deals with the fact that his brother is at his side almost 24/7. He does worship his father, but it comes at the cost of knowing how heroes can fall. He misses his mother more than he can ever say, but it hurts all the more to know that Sam never got to know her. But his brother? He wasn't really complete unless he had that dorky kid by his side.

So yeah, this guy sucks. Of all the forms of all the humans in all the world, I had to choose this one. Nobody should ever want to be this guy, but I get the feeling that Dean Winchester wouldn't want to be anyone else.

* * *

 **A/N:** So there it is. Hope you enjoyed. Please review! And I will see you next week with another non-Winchester POV.


	7. Synchronicity and Silence

**A/N:** Happy Tuesday, fellow SPN Family members! Thanks to NightReader22, celinenaville, talknerdy2meh, and attemptedvisions for reviewing! Here we have another shift in perspective, this time to the preacher's daughter, Lori, from Episode 7, _Hook Man_. Not my favourite episode, but it does have one of my favourite Winchester moments in it. When the boys threw each other the gun and the necklace, I was pretty amazed. The way they moved in complete unison, that's when I knew that the show was something special. So that's what inspired this chapter. Hope you enjoy, and please review!

 **Disclaimer** : Nothing recognizable belongs to me. I just like playing in other people's sandboxes.

* * *

 **Synchronicity and Silence**

When Lori was younger, she had always wanted to be a ballerina. The grace that came from hard work and determination was something to behold. The way the dancers moved across the stage, displaying such emotion without saying a word, left her breathless. She wanted to evoke the same feelings in others that she felt when watching the beautiful dancers twirl across the stage.

And it wasn't just their beauty and strength that she admired. It was the synchronicity of it all. The way they all moved in perfect unison, being exactly where they needed to be at exactly the right time in order to support the Prima Ballerina. The teamwork and flawless execution of group choreography was what she loved most of all. Knowing that you were working alongside a group of like-minded individuals with a common goal (to make people _feel_ something) …Well, isn't that something that every person on Earth strives for? Everybody wants somebody that they can depend on no matter what.

She had taken lessons back when her Mom was still alive, but had quit once she realized just how difficult it was to dance with such poise and elegance. The cracked and bleeding feet had her hanging up her tutu by the time she was 13 years old.

But she had never quite gotten over it. She still went to see _Swan Lake_ every spring for her birthday, and _The Nutcracker_ every Christmas, half wishing that she had never given it up but also realizing that she really didn't have the discipline to use her body in such a way for so many hours a day.

Despite having given it up so long ago, the lessons that ballet had taught her kept her marveling at the gracefulness of life in general. Not only in the things that were meant to be graceful, such as a ballerina or an ice dancer, but also in the rougher elements. She saw elegance in a storm, restraint in the way a quarterback dodged a tackle, dignity in a prized showjumper defying gravity to overcome a water obstacle.

In short, she saw God's hand in every little thing she saw. The gravity defying leaps, the spine-bending dips, the toe crunching twirls, and the way they all moved together as one being. Such an art form could only come from God's hand. Knowing that helped to calm her in times of doubt, knowing that nothing in this world could possibly be so magnificent without a benevolent Creator at the helm.

Knowing that there was evil out there scared her. The ghost of Jacob Karns terrified her, but what scared her more was that she had been controlling him, sending him after people she thought were immoral. She attempted to rationalize it in her mind: she did not know what she was doing; if there was a God to create good, there must be bad as well. Lucifer, the Devil, the Hook Man. The world was full of opposites, and they could not exist without one another to balance each other out.

But she had still seen the gracefulness that God bestowed upon his Earth. The two brothers, Sam and Dean Winchester. The way they had moved, always keeping an eye on each other while protecting her and her father. They had each other's backs, and it was as though being partial to that knowledge was half the battle for them.

Lori knew that such a level of teamwork only came after years and years of working together, but she still marveled at the way the two brothers instinctively knew where the other was. It was like they were two halves of a whole, or like she was watching two magnets get drawn together; they could part, go their separate ways, but always end up at each other's side.

When the Hook Man had been about to get her, Dean had yelled at Sam to drop and he had—just like that. There had been no hesitation, no thought against it. Just an order that sounded more like a plea, and the desire to prevent pain by following.

Lori had watched the two men try to riddle out what was tying the Hook Man to this world. When they realized it was the necklace her father had given her, she watched as they worked in tandem to protect her and get rid of the vengeful spirit of the preacher.

The squeal of Karn's hook on the wall shook both of them into action, and Lori saw more than felt Sam rip her necklace off her body. She watched the necklace and the rifle sail through the air within a hairsbreadth of each other. The boys didn't even look to see where the two projectiles would land, somehow knowing they would land in the already outstretched hands.

It had taken less than three seconds for the exchange to take place and Dean to take off down the hallway to destroy the necklace that was at least partially made from the preacher's hook. Less than a minute later, the ghost of Jacob Karns disappeared in a burst of smoke and flames with a scream of defiance.

None of this shook her. She was still trying to wrap her head around the way these two brothers worked together. There were no pedantic warnings about staying safe, no diatribes about what the world out there is like; they were nothing like her father. And yet, the meanings of those lectures were present. They came through specific looks, and the way they issued and followed orders.

The message was clear: " _Stay safe_." As Lori watched them, she knew they were the only ones they truly trusted to keep each other safe. Dean raced back to the main church after the ghost disappeared, and it was as though Lori was a mere ghost herself for all the attention he paid her. He quickly triaged his brother, announced that he didn't need a hospital and that he could take care of it back at their motel, and hefted his brother to his feet.

Lori wanted to say something, _anything_ , to them, to thank them for what they've done, but she knew instinctively that she would only be interrupting their routine. Dean had his arm wrapped around his brother's abdomen, while Sam had his arm thrown around Dean's shoulders. Sam hadn't exactly been on the brink of bleeding out, but it was something they needed to do, an age-old tradition that must have gone back to their childhood. They easily maneuvered down the hallway and into the parking lot. Lori heard the grumble of the car's engine as they pulled away, and knew that Dean had somehow been able to pour his taller brother into the car and drive away as though they hadn't just disposed of a centuries old ghost.

Lori turned to the figure of Christ on the cross and smiled. Truly, there must be a Creator if two beings such as the Winchester Brothers can move in such synchronous ways, without a word being spoken at all.

* * *

 **A/N:** So I hope that was good! A little more religious than I originally planned, but hey, it's from the point of view of a preacher's daughter who accidentally set a ghost on people she thought were immoral! Anyway, please review if you enjoyed and I will see you next week!

A small spoiler for next week too. We have an appearance by Papa John Winchester.


	8. All He Could Do

**A/N:** Hi everyone! Here's the one-shot tagged to episode 1x08, _Bugs._ This one is inspired by the line about John going to visit Sam at Stanford. Obviously he wasn't the only one, and obviously Dean would never straight up tell Sam that he checked up on him too, but I would be pretty shocked if Dean wasn't the one going to visit Sam, probably even more often than John. Not to mean any disrespect to John, because I do think he was a father struggling to do his best with two boys who were so different from each other and from him. Anyway, that's my philosophy on John Winchester. There is also a metaphor in this chapter that I found completely brilliant in a story by everyone'ssister, entitled _Your Blood on My Hands_. I would highly recommend it.

Thanks to celinenaville, NightReader22, lenail125, and attemptedvisions for their kind words. Please enjoy and review!

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

 **All He Could Do**

It had been almost two years since Dean had dropped Sam off at the airport in Maine. Since that day, they had spoken on the phone maybe once a month, which was something that was difficult for Dean to swallow because, though he may not have been a big talker, only hearing his brother's voice two dozen times over a two-year period was like torture after having grown up in each other's pockets for 18 years, no matter how mushy it sounded.

Still, Sammy was happy, and that was the whole point. His freshman year had kicked him in the teeth, but he came back swinging with all the Winchester stubbornness that was basically legendary by this point. Dean got emails from Sam about his grades, as Sam had explained that he didn't want to come off as one of those kids who called home just to brag about how well they were doing. Part of Dean thought that Sam didn't want to say his grades aloud because he thought Dean would be jealous, while another part of him thought that Sam typed his grades out so that Dad may catch a glimpse of them while peering over Dean's shoulder. Whatever the reason was, Dean knew Sam was happy, and living a normal life. So he would suck it up and deal with the pain of Sam's refusal to come home over the summer.

Sam was going to take a couple of summer courses to bolster his grades, and get a job at a local mall on top of his gig at the campus library to grab some extra cash, same as he had done the summer before. Dean had suggested ( _again_ ) swinging by when he was in the California region, but Sam had ( _again_ ) refused, claiming that he didn't want to take Dean out of his way when he had important work to do. Internally, Dean had called BS on that last one, because since when did Sam see their work as 'important'? Sure, he had liked saving people, but he had always ranted and raved about how they didn't have to be the ones to do the saving. Still, Dean had agreed, but not without Sam making an empty promise that he would try to come home over Christmas break.

For Dean, it didn't really matter. Sure, it stung like a sonofabitch that his brother didn't want to see him (because he had made sure to mention that Dad would not be tagging along if he did come and visit, so it must have been him), but it wasn't like Dean never got to see his brother. He just had to do it in a roundabout, semi-stalkerish kind of way.

For the first year, Dean had made sure to take a job in the state of California every couple of weeks. Not only did he prefer sand and sun to rain or snow or just generally cold weather that came with others states, but it gave him the perfect opportunity to check in discreetly on Sam, just to make sure that he was fulfilling his promise of salting the doors, and that he was eating and sleeping alright, and that nobody was giving him a hard time, and that he wasn't burying his head in the books and ignoring all the co-eds that were walking around in short shorts and tank tops.

It was pretty easy to pull off too. Once Dad had split in his truck, Dean had started taking jobs from other hunters as well. Bobby, Pastor Jim, and Caleb had all started sending him jobs on the west coast. He would still take central and east coast jobs, but he made sure to stake a claim on any job in California that came up in Palo Alto. Bobby had recognized what he was doing almost immediately (that man could find a pattern anywhere), and made sure to send him California jobs every five weeks or so. Dean had appreciated it and almost always took the case, only having to decline when he was in the middle of a ghoul hunt in Crested Butte, Colorado in the middle of December, with snow up to his ears. Still, nine times out of ten Dean was able to get to California to check up on his kid brother, and the tenth time was usually missed because of some life or death situation.

By the time Year 2 rolled around, Dean decided that he would cut back his visits to every other month because it was obvious that the kid was settling in just fine, and, though he would never say it out loud, Dean was half-afraid that Sam would catch him if he kept visiting too often. He started that in September (meaning he was able to check in on Sam during the first few weeks of school, that most hated day in November, his birthday, over spring break, and on Sam's birthday, but he absolutely had _not_ planned it out that way), so he was still free to be sitting in his Baby across the street from Sam's dorm on that balmy July evening, watching Sammy return home from an evening class.

Dean had his stalking down to a science. He knew the best place to park so that Sam wouldn't see the Impala, he knew that it took approximately three minutes from when Sam opened the front door to the dorm building for him to flip on the light switch in his room on the second floor, and he knew that the first thing Sam would do once entering his room was lay down the salt lines and open the curtains to let the light in.

On this night, Sam did all of that but Dean's big brother senses were tingling. Something was different. From Dean's vantage point, there was nobody else in the room, and Dean had personally picked the lock on Sam's door to lay down some additional warding for extra insurance, so there was very little that could possibly get into Sam's room without either of them knowing. Still, something seemed off, and Dean couldn't quite put his finger—

"JESUS!" Dean jumped as a finger tapped on the window. He turned and saw his father with a sad sort of grin on his face looking at him from the passenger side door. He leaned over and nudged the door open so that his father could slide into the front bench seat. "Dad? What the Hell?" John opened his mouth to answer, but Dean threw Holy Water in his face before he could utter a single syllable. John threw him a look and Dean shrugged. "Sorry, just had to be sure. What the Hell are you doing here?"

"What, you think you're the only one allowed to check in on your brother?"

"No sir, it's just that…the way you two left things…I thought…" Dean stumbled over his words. A small part of him was happy to see his father. It had been months since they had met face to face, resorting to talking on the phone once every other day. Most of him hated John for being there. The man had lost his temper and thrown Sam out of their family, and yet here he was, trying to look after him and protect him as if nothing had happened. Plus, this was something Dean did. He looked after Sammy, that was his job; it was part of who he was.

"I know I said some things to him, Dean. But that doesn't mean that I want him to get killed in this experiment of his."

Dean wanted to argue that this wasn't an experiment, not for Sam. This was going to be the rest of his life, and Dean would be damned if he was going to let anything try to take his baby brother's future away from him. But he couldn't, because that would just hurt both of them. They both wanted Sammy back, that much was clear, and claiming that it would never happen would just destroy whatever tentative balance they had struck between being father and son and keeping their distance from one another. It had always been a balancing act between John and Dean. Despite what Sam may have thought about his brother being the perfect little soldier, Dean had always walked a fine line between his inherent duty to his father and his self-prescribed duty to Sam. He would do whatever either of them wanted or needed, but when they were at odds Dean often felt like he was jumping through fiery hoops while walking on a tightrope over a pit of hungry tigers. Telling his father that Sam wasn't just going through some phase would probably just reignite the anger from that night two years ago, but Dean couldn't just give him hope that Sam would come home either.

Instead, Dean reached into the backseat and pulled two beers from the cooler, handing one to his father and popping the lid off of his with his silver ring.

"Should you really be drinking and driving, Dean?" Dad asked after he wrenched his bottle cap off with his teeth.

"I drove when my guts were spilling out after a wendigo took a slice out of me back in February," Dean responded flippantly. "I'm sure driving drunk will be ten times easier."

John gently cuffed him in the back of the head. "Watch your tone with me, boy," he chuckled softly, no real heat behind the words.

Dean grinned as he got out of the car, circled towards her hood, and hopped up on top. Dad slowly followed, leaning against the right side of the car near the wheel and sipping at his beer. Dean leaned back, getting comfortable against the windshield, half an eye on Sam's apartment, where his eggheaded brother could be seen leaning over a desk writing, the other eye turned skyward as the stars began to emerge.

"Sam and I used to do this all the time," Dean started quietly, hoping to share this information with his father to make him understand. "Once you gave me the Impala, I would take Sam out into empty fields some nights when the motel got too stuffy. We'd just watch the stars, and Sam would ask all sorts of questions about what they were made of and how far away they were. He was always so interested in the world around us." Dean shifted awkwardly, hating how close to chick-flick territory this was getting. He lifted the bottle to his lips and swallowed half his beer.

"He reminds me so much of your Mom." Dean looked over but Dad had his eyes turned skyward. "She was always interested in traveling and seeing the world. Forget the fact that there was a war going on, she was pissed that I got to go to Vietnam because she had always wanted to go overseas and learn about other cultures. She would beg me to take her away from her home, to take her anywhere that wasn't Lawrence. I guess Sam was always the same way."

Dean slowly nodded, beginning to understand why his father had freaked out the way he did when he found out Sam wanted to go to college. Mary had always wanted to travel, and she was gone. If Sam left, the odds of the same thing happening to him were pretty good. Dad didn't want to lose another person. Dean got that, he really did. But he had no idea how to tell his Dad that his holding on to Sam so tightly was ultimately what drove him away.

Instead, Dean let the moment wash over him. It had been almost a decade since it had been Dad- and-Dean, a united front protecting Sam. As they had gotten older, it had become more of a Sam-and-Dean show. That had hurt John, knowing that his youngest never really needed him at all. Dean had always taken care of Sam, and John was appreciative of the fact that he could always depend on his eldest boy to take care of business. In that sense, Dean reminded him of Mary too. She had been the glue keeping the family together, and when she burned up Dean had plastered himself over the giant hole she had left, desperately trying to fill the void and keep the Winchester men together.

John cast a glance over at his son. Dean looked more relaxed than John had seen him in almost two years. Part of the reason he had taken off was so that they could hunt separately, but he had also hated the sadness in Dean's eyes, and how…incomplete he looked without his brother by his side. Taking care of Sam made Dean _Dean_ , and John couldn't stand the thought that he had unintentionally hurt both of his boys with his rash words on that August evening in Maine. He had always wanted his boys to be independent, but he hadn't realized that forcing Sam out from under Dean's wing would result in breaking it. His oldest kid had been shattered when Sam had left, though he had done his best to try and hide it. John knew that he had broken that bond of trust that resided between them, and he couldn't stand the way that Dean looked at him differently after that fight.

It was all John's fault; he knew that. He knew that he had irrevocably damaged the bonds he had with both of his sons, and the bond that resided between his boys, the bond he had fostered since they were four and six-months. He had lost his temper, and that had cost him almost everything he had.

John wanted to say something to Dean, something that would make it all better. An apology for accidentally cleaving his son's identity in half when he had disowned Sam, a word of encouragement that it would all get better soon, or even a comment on how proud he was of Dean, looking after his brother the way he had his entire life. But watching his son watch the stars kept him quiet. Sitting on an old Impala in the dark heat of July in California, Dean was more at peace than John had ever seen him, and he refused to ruin that moment. So he leaned against the side of the car, drank his beer, and kept watch over both of his boys, because that was all he could do.

* * *

 **A/N:** There you go, gang! The tag to _Bugs_. Hope you enjoyed it! Please drop a line to let me know what you thought!


	9. The Birth of a Hero

**A/N:** Hey guys! So I was kind of disappointed with the turnout for the last chapter, which was one of my favourites that I've written. It's okay, obviously I can't force you guys to review, but it still kinda stings, especially since I loved bringing John into the fold. Oh well. Thanks to NightReader22 for reviewing! It was really great hearing from you!

Okay, so this one is tagged to episode 1x09 _Home_ , which is obviously one of my favourite episodes of the season. Please review!

* * *

 **The Birth of a Hero**

" _Sammy! Sammy!"_

 _A hair-raising scream._

" _No, Mary!"_

 _Sam's infant sobs._

" _Daddy?"_

 _Crackling flames and heat._

" _Take your brother outside as fast as you can; don't look back! Now Dean, go!"_

 _A solid weight in shaking arms._

" _It's okay, Sammy."_

Dean shot awake, chest heaving. He was covered in sweat, and could feel the tears running down his face.

God, he hadn't dreamt about that night in months, maybe even years. Booze and broads had been pretty good nightmare deterrents and, when they weren't working, he simply wouldn't sleep. Driving cross country in his Baby was a hell of a lot better than reliving the terror of that night.

Dean slipped out of his bed and padded into the motel bathroom. He threw some water on his face before cupping his hands to gather some of the cool liquid to pour over his sweat dampened neck and shoulders. He refused to look at himself in the mirror, knowing exactly what he would find. Fear and self-loathing. Coming back to Lawrence had been a mistake, despite the fact that Sam had been right, and Jenny and her kids had been in danger ( _and that was a problem in and of itself that would be dealt with later_ ).

Dean sighed, slapping the light switch and dragging his body back into bed. Usually the nightmares would stop after he woke up, so he could only pray that the rest of his night would be uneventful.

"De'? You okay?" Sam's groggy voice echoed through the dark motel room.

"Yeah Sammy, I'm fine. Go back to bed."

Sam rolled over and turned on the lamp between their beds. With his dishevelled hair he looked like he was all of five years old again, causing Dean to smile despite the lingering echo of his mother's scream. "I'll believe that when you stop shaking."

Dean looked down and grasped his slightly trembling left arm. "There. It stopped."

Sam shot him his patented bitch face and turned onto his back to stare at the ceiling. Dean followed suit, reclining in his own bed and staring at the gross yellowing ceiling above him. A few minutes passed, and Dean hoped that Sam had fallen back asleep, despite knowing that he wouldn't be able to with the lamp shining brightly next to him.

"Hey De'?"

One 'De'' was acceptable, especially considering that he had just woken up. Two? Something was on Sam's mind, and Dean was going to get to the bottom of it, if only to run the nightmares out of his mind.

"Yeah buddy?" he murmured gently.

"Why…why did you never tell me that you were the one?"

"The one what?" Dean stalled, hoping against all hope that he wasn't asking what he thought he was asking.

Sam huffed. "The one that pulled me out of the fire."

Dean kept his eyes resolutely on the stain on the ceiling, trying to figure out what could possibly have caused it. The answer would probably keep him awake all night, but that was fine considering this topic of conversation would probably bring the nightmares back the second he closed his eyes.

"It doesn't matter, Sam."

"It does to me. I always thought it was Dad who pulled us both out."

"He did. He shoved you into my arms and told me to run. So I ran. He scooped us both up and ran once we were outside."

"Doesn't matter. We were already outside. You were the one who got me out. Not Dad, you."

"Dad was trying to figure out how the hell our mother ended up on the ceiling, Sam. He was a little busy!" he snapped. He couldn't blame his Dad for trying to save their Mom; he would have done the same thing if he hadn't been zoned in on getting his baby brother to safety.

"I know, Dean," Sam murmured placatingly. "I'm just trying to figure out why you never said anything, especially with all the crap I said and did when we were younger. Hell, one word about it would've kept me home from Stanford. Never once did you say, "Do you know what I've done for you?" or "I saved your life, you have to do what I say.""

Dean heaved himself up to sit with his back against the rickety metal headboard. "You seriously think I would say something like that?" He looked over at his baby brother sadly, wondering what he could have done to make his brother think that he would do something like that.

Sam fidgeted uncomfortably, and Dean knew that it wasn't because of bed bugs. "Well…no. I know you wouldn't. But why not? I was an ungrateful brat! Everything I said about you only following Dad's orders and never thinking for yourself, you could have shut me up just by telling me that it was you."

"Really? Well, I wish I'd known that then," Dean chuckled.

"Shut up, jerk."

"You're the one who started it, bitch."

Sam smiled and settled back down into his too-small bed, grinning like he'd just been given the secret to the universe. Dean did the same, rolling over onto his stomach and clutching the hunting knife that lay under his pillow. As he did, he noticed that the smile had not faded from Sam's face.

"You know, if you sleep like that your face is gonna stay that way," Dean remarked through a yawn. Sam's smile only grew as he rolled on his side to face his brother. "Seriously Sam, why do you have an "I killed Batman" smile on your face? It's creeping me out."

"It's just…" Sam's eyes started to slide closed. Behind his eyelids he could see a different version of his brother, running out of burning buildings carrying little kids and pets, saving families as a firefighter. A hero. His hero. "Thanks Dean," he mumbled as he drifted off back to sleep.

"You never have to mention it, Sammy," Dean replied softly, knowing that the words were falling on sleeping ears, but preferring it that way.

Sam would never have to thank Dean for saving him, from a fire or from any fugly they came across. It was enough just to know that his brother was alive and breathing. Sam being back by his side? That was just a bonus.

* * *

 **A/N:** So I hope you guys enjoyed that. Please let me know through a review. Next chapter is another one of my favourites, so I'll see you guys next week!


	10. Organically Interdependent

**A/N:** Hi everybody! Here's the next instalment of In His Glow. I hope you enjoy this one. It's tagged to episode 1x10, _Asylum_. The title comes from a phrase that my professor dropped on me a few weeks ago in class, and it just screamed Winchesters to me.

Thanks to Sasha Snape, 'Guest', lenail125, NightReader22, hecatess, spnfanforlife for the reviews. They mean a lot! Please continue to review. I honestly love reading what you guys think of my take on the different episodes.

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing belongs to me, only my interpretation.

* * *

 **Organically Interdependent**

" _Now I'll make you a deal. I'll tell you all about the Roosevelt Riot, if you tell me something about yourself. Like, uh…this brother you're road tripping with. How do you feel about him?_ "

Sam swallowed, uncomfortable all of a sudden. The plan had been to get in, get the information pertaining to the case, and get out. Piece of cake. No additional effort required. And yet, their infamous streak of Winchester luck had won out again, and Sam had no idea what to do about it. Dean would have made up some garbage about his life and had the information in his hand within ten minutes. Sam wasn't a great liar. Probably because he'd never had the opportunity to become great at it. Dean had always been able to read him like an open book, and, whenever he did try to pull one over on his big brother, all it took was a single plea for the truth before Sam spilled his guts all over the motel floor.

Sam shifted in his seat. "My, uh…my brother?"

"Yes," Dr. Ellicott replied softly, sitting back in his seat and resting his steepled fingers on his chin. "Your request for an appointment said that you wanted grief counselling; that your girlfriend died in an accident. Yet, here you are, with your brother on a road trip. Why?"

Sam cleared his throat. "Well, Dean…Dean has a way of making things better, you know? He always has."

"Why do you say that?"

Sam grinned a little, looking down at his twisting fingers in his lap. "It's just the way things have always been between us. Ever since I was a baby, Dean's been the one looking out for me. Dad wasn't ever really around a lot because he had to travel for work, and Mom…she passed away when I was a baby. Ever since I can remember, Dean was the one I would go to whenever I had a problem. Bullies, bad grades, scraped knees; Dean could handle it all, even if he is only four years older than me."

"He sounds like a good guy," Dr. Ellicott pondered softly.

"Yeah, but he can be a real jerk sometimes," Sam smiled ruefully.

"Well, most big brothers can be," the doctor chuckled.

Sam laughed. "I guess."

The room was silent except for the ticking of the clock. "So, why a road trip?"

Sam's smile dropped from his face and the air grew thick with tension. "Before Jess died, I hadn't seen Dean for two years. When I got into Stanford, our Dad kicked me out. He was all about the family unit sticking together, but I needed out, and I think Dean knew it too. I knew he didn't want me to go, but he never tried to stop me. Hel—heck," Sam quickly corrected himself, but the doctor continued to look pensively at the ceiling. "Dean even drove me to the airport when it was time for me to go. After that we spoke on the phone every once in a while, but we didn't see each other until…"

"Until?" Dr. Ellicott's voice was soft and soothing, but Sam was a hundred miles away.

"He got hurt in a hunting accident. Wild animal clawed into him pretty good." Actually, it had been a wendigo, and Dean had driven himself to the hospital with a hand pressed against his abdomen to keep his insides inside. Sam had found out and flipped, leaving a royally pissed Jessica in his wake ( _Not only was it their Valentine's Day Do-Over, but he had almost knocked her down the stairs in his haste to get to his brother_.). He had driven through the night, scared out of his mind that he wouldn't make it in time. "They couldn't get ahold of Dad, so they called me instead. He never did change his emergency contact after I left. Seeing him like that…" Sam shook his head at the memory of his immovable big brother lying so still upon the hospital bed in some small town outside of Seattle. Add that to the multitude of similar hospital visits, and it was no wonder why Sam had worked even harder to cut ties with his family after leaving that hospital.

"It must have been difficult for you." Sam shot the doctor a quizzical look. "Seeing someone who is obviously so important to you so hurt, especially when there was nothing you could do about it."

Sam nodded. "He always looked after me. We were pretty rowdy kids, and landed ourselves in the hospital too many times to count. Even if he was worse off, Dean always made sure I got looked at first." Sam smiled grimly. "He never cared about himself so long as I was okay. Any stereotype about protective big brothers begins and ends with Dean."

"That doesn't have to be a bad thing, Sam. Obviously being around your older brother is a source of comfort for you; don't let anyone try to take that away from you."

Sam scoffed. "Isn't that called being co-dependent?"

Dr. Ellicott let out a huge belly laugh. "You take a psych course in college, Sam?"

He nodded a bit sheepishly. "Sorry sir, it's just—"

"No worries, Sam," Dr. Ellicott laughed again. "Some people would call it co-dependency. I call BS. Nobody can survive in this world alone. Everybody needs somebody at some point in their lives. Even Hitler found somebody who could love him. I don't call that co-dependency. I prefer 'organically interdependent'."

Sam nodded. "I guess I can see the difference."

"Good."

Sam looked up at him. "So do I get to hear about the Roosevelt Riot now?"

Dr. Ellicott laughed again before leaning down and opening his desk drawer. He pulled out a file and handed it to Sam. "This has all the newspaper clippings about the Riot. Have at it."

"Thank you, Doctor." Sam stood to leave.

He reached out to shake Dr. Ellicott's hand, which the doctor returned heartily.

When Sam reached the door, the doctor called his name.

"You never answered my question." At Sam's puzzled glance, he continued. "How do you feel about your brother?"

Sam stood in the doorway for a moment, considering the question from all angles. A small smile crept across his face as he replied, "He's my best friend and my brother. I don't know where I'd be if he hadn't been there to help pick up the pieces after Jess died. Dean's the best."

Dr. Ellicott smiled at him as he left. He leaned over to pick up the single sheet of paper he had been going to use to record Sam's possible treatments, and gently let it slide into his recycling bin. He wouldn't be seeing Sam Winchester again; of that he was sure. The kid had all the care he needed already.

* * *

 **A/N:** So there you go! I hope you enjoyed it! Drop a line and let me know what you think. See you next week!


	11. Taking One for the Team

**A/N:** Hey everyone, and Happy Belated Birthday to Sam Winchester! Thanks for all of the love for the last chapter! Think we can keep it going? ;) I sure hope so! Thanks to Guest, waitingforAslan, attemptedvisions, hecatess, NightReader22, lenail125, sanrio76, spnfanforlife, and celinenaville for the kind words!

So this one is tagged to episode 1x11, _Scarecrow_. I'm not so sure about the direction I took it in, but I hope you guys like it. In other news, I finished all the chapters up until the end of season 1, so there will definitely be consistent updates for the next 11 weeks. I'm really excited about the upcoming chapters.

 **Disclaimer:** I'm not the Krip. I'm just playing with his toys.

* * *

 **Taking One For the Team**

" _How old were you when Mom died? Four? Jess died six months ago! How the Hell would you know how I feel_?"

The instant the words left his mouth, he wished he could swallow them back up. He knew how much Mom's death had messed his brother up. He knew about the nightmares. He knew that Mom's death had changed Dean's role from older brother to parent, soldier, and caretaker within seconds. Sam knew that his brother struggled every day with his mother's death; his words to Lucas a few months earlier proved as much.

No matter which way you sliced it, Mom's death had been a defining moment in Dean's life. It had burned up any chance at a normal future that Dean had. The demon that killed Mom had stolen his brother's life, and Sam knew it.

He just needed Dean to see it. Dean was so obsessed with being Dad's perfect soldier that he was forgetting what their whole crusade was based on. This demon had stolen everything from the Winchester family, and Sam wanted it back. Deep down, he knew that killing the stupid son of a bitch that had killed Mom and Jess wouldn't bring them back, but it sure as Hell would make him feel better about everything. Besides, when they finally got the thing he could go back. He could return to school, get into Stanford's law program, and become a lawyer.

More than that, maybe Dean could get out too. Settle down, get a legitimate job, get married, have a few kids. The thing that killed Mom was the reason they got into this mess of a lifestyle, getting rid of it would put an end to it. If that made him a bad son, or a 'selfish bastard', as Dean had so eloquently put it, then so be it.

So, when Dean and the Impala had kicked up dirt and left him there on the side of the road, Sam had only felt a twinge of regret. He was only trying to do what was best for all of them. Yeah, Dean had to go and gank whatever was killing those couples. People were dying, and Dean wasn't the type of person to leave that alone. But Sam and Dad could go and get the damn demon that killed Mom, and end this. They'd all be free. Sure, Dad would probably keep hunting, but that didn't mean they had to. It was like those dreams that Sam would have, before the dreams about Jessica on the ceiling started, about Dean coming to find him at school and announcing his retirement. He just wanted, no, _needed_ , that life. A life where he knew where he was going to lay his head at night, and what he was going to face in the morning, and not worrying about getting a phone call about his brother being dead. If Dean couldn't see that, then that was on him.

* * *

Dean had called to say goodbye. The very idea of it sent a chill up Sam's spine. Was this what it was like the past four years? Dean hunting by himself. Dean researching by himself. Dean putting himself in harm's way without backup. Knowing that something was happening and witnessing it first-hand were two very different things. When he was in college, Sam knew that Dean would be flying solo more often than not, but it didn't really bother him. Well, except for that one phone call from a hospital in Seattle…

But Sam couldn't think about that now. Something was wrong. He could feel it in his bones. He spent the next couple of hours trying to shrug it off, bury it, like he had when he was still at school and he knew his family was hunting without him. But it didn't work. It was as though that first hunt with Dean had opened the floodgates and let all that worry back into his life. And Sam didn't have the power to close them. So when Meg had approached and said that their bus was in the bay, Sam knew he couldn't go with her. He couldn't leave his brother, not again.

They were all that was left. Mom and Jess were dead and buried, Dad was in the wind; Dean had warned him that Uncle Bobby was on less than great terms with their Dad, so he was definitely out. For Sam's entire life, it had been him and Dean against the world. It never quite mattered what was thrown at them, they always seemed to come out on top. And most of it was because of Dean. Because Dean was always there to pull Sam along behind him if the danger was up in front of them, or push him ahead if the danger was trailing behind. Dean had consistently placed himself in harm's way to protect him, and Sam hated it. But what he hated more is that constant niggling at the back of his brain, telling him that he didn't deserve it; didn't deserve Dean.

Dean had gone hungry at least once a week when they were kids so that Sam could eat, and Sam had repaid him by bitching about the food.

Dean had gotten hurt more than once trying to protect Sam from the catch of the day, and Sam had only seen fit to gripe at his brother from the uncomfortable chair next to his brother's hospital bed about how he wasn't a little kid anymore.

Dean stretched himself way too thin trying to keep the family together, like the Sun trying to keep the planets together when other gravitational pulls were trying to tear them away, and Sam had just broken the connection and fallen into the darkness.

Maybe he felt so inconsiderate because Dean had never expected or wanted a thank you. Every time Sam tried to offer one, he got cuffed upside the head or told to stop being a girl. Maybe the old adage was true, that kids will only break your heart.

But Sam wasn't a kid anymore. He wasn't a student anymore, either. He wasn't _normal_. He was a friggin' Winchester, and it was his turn to step up to the plate and take one for the team.

If Dad didn't want to be found, then so be it. But he'd let Dean down too many times to ever let it happen again. He'd do whatever it took to be the best brother he could be to the best friend a guy could ask for. Because Dean was his best friend. And Sam could bitch about a lot of things about their childhood, but he'd never regret the bond he had with his brother.

So when he showed up in that orchard and saved Dean from that whacked out scarecrow, he told him exactly that.

" _Jess and Mom—they're both gone. Dad is God knows where. You and me. We're all that's left. So, if we're gonna see this through, we're gonna do it together._ "

For Dean, the Impala and Sam had always been enough. Yeah, maybe Sam wanted more out of his life, but at this very moment, he was satisfied to try things Dean's way.

* * *

 **A/N:** There you go! Hope you enjoyed it. Please drop me a line or two to let me know.

Oh, and a note completely off-topic: congrats to all the Tony Award Nominees! Hamilton FTW!


	12. Sacrifice

**A/N:** Hi everyone! Welcome back and Happy Tuesday! Thanks to Guest, Mariamo, celinenaville, spnfanforlife, and lenail125 for the lovely reviews. Hope you guys enjoy this one. It's tagged to 1x12, _Faith_ , which is one of my favourite episodes ever. Please let me know what you think!

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing belongs to me but my emotions (which I don't even own, I rent) and my interpretation.

* * *

 **Sacrifice**

Sam had thought that seeing his girlfriend burning up on the ceiling was the worst thing he could possibly see this year. 2005 hadn't exactly shaped up to be the banner year Sam had been hoping for. His dreams of law school and a fiancée had turned into death and destruction and revenge and a father who didn't want to be found. Still, he had held high hopes for 2006. Find Dad. Kill the demon that killed Mom and Jess. Finish the quest. Go back to school. Bring Dean kicking and screaming if he had to, because after what happened with that creepy scarecrow god thing Sam sure as hell wasn't going to let his brother hunt without him watching his back.

But Sam's dreams of 2006: The Year of the Normal were drowned in the same puddle of water he had found Dean lying in after he had toasted the Rawhead. His stupid, self-sacrificing, heroic big brother had also succeeded in frying up his own bacon, extra crispy, in his attempt to kill the thing that had been terrorizing those two kids.

Sam felt his stomach churn with guilt as the image forced its way back into his mind. He swallowed painfully as the bile crept up his throat at the knowledge of just how close he had come to losing the only thing that was keeping him semi-sane. He looked down at the body that was pillowed by the thin mattress and white sheets. Because that's all it was: a body. The life and spirit that had inhabited the body had been stamped out by a heart attack at the ripe old age of 27. Its eyes were closed. It looked…normal, like any other 27-year-old body, except that this one had suffered a heart attack.

"I just…" Sam looked around awkwardly, wishing that he didn't have to do this but knowing with all his heart that he had to. "I just wanted to thank you, for everything. You probably don't even know what I'm talking about, but I do. Your life meant so much to so many people, and I feel like I don't even have the right to say what I'm saying because…" Sam trailed off as he ripped his eyes from the unmoving man. His eyes trailed over the white-washed walls and landed upon a Bible on the table next to him.

"Life's not fair, I guess is what I'm trying to say. It's not fair that a young, healthy guy should have a heart attack at the age of 27. God, when the doctors told me I should prepare for the worst, because the heart can only take so much strain before it gives out, I almost lost it. The entry scars from the electricity, the machines beeping; it's so wrong. I just kept thinking, "No! That could never happen to _my_ brother. Somebody else's brother, sure. But _mine_? No way!"" Sam chuckled morosely. "But it did happen to my brother. And it happened to you."

Sam sighed, placing his hand on Marshall Hall's chest, where his heart would still be beating if Sam wasn't a selfish bastard who wanted— _needed_ —his brother to live.

"I just wanted to thank you. I know you don't know me, and I don't know you, and it doesn't seem fair that you die so that my brother gets to live, but I need you to know how much your sacrifice means to me…You gave me my brother back. So thank you, Marshall." Sam patted Marshall's chest one more time before turning from the white satin lined coffin in the middle of the funeral home. "Thank you," he murmured again, knowing it was hollow praise for a man who had done nothing but love someone that society deemed wrong.

Sam walked back towards the front doors of the funeral home. Dean had no idea that he had come, and he wanted to keep it that way. That crazy bitch Sue Anne and her pet reaper had done their job, and Dean was back to being in peak physical condition, but Sam was still worried. Knowing that Marshall had died in his place, and that Layla would probably die too, had shaken his brother. Dean hated it when innocent people got killed during hunts, especially when he could have done something to save them. Knowing that Marshall Hall was killed _because_ of him was eating Dean up inside, but he wouldn't show that to Sam. He was putting on a brave face and acting like it was any other Tuesday, despite the fact that Sam knew better. He knew better because Marshall's sacrifice was eating at him, and he knew that his brother felt things one hundred times deeper than he did.

"Mrs. Hall?" The borderline elderly woman looked up at him through her black veil. Marshall's father, brother, and boyfriend stood around her in a loose semi-circle in the middle of the funeral parlor. "I just wanted to say that I'm so sorry for your loss; all of your loss."

She pulled a handkerchief up to her mouth and choked back a sob. "Thank you, young man. How did you know my Marshall?"

Sam scuffed his shoe on the floor, trying to think quickly but the exhaustion of the past few days were finally catching up to him. "He saved my brother's life."

"But Marshall was a school teacher. How did he—" Marshall's boyfriend's voice cracked.

"My brother had a heart attack a few weeks ago, outside of the school. Marshall found him and dialed 911. He lived. He's going to be okay, all thanks to your son. I know it's no consolation, especially considering the circumstances of Marshall's death, but I want you to know that his saving my brother is something I will never forget. I will always be thankful for him." Sam reached out and clasped Marshall's mother's hand in both of his own. "I just wanted you to know that, I guess." She nodded at him and he released her. Nodding at the men surrounding her, he made his way to the front doors of the parlor.

"Hey, wait a second!" Marshall's brother had jogged after him. Sam paused at the front door, hand going to the pocket of his jacket to feel for the knife he had stashed. "You said your brother is okay, right?" Sam nodded. "You the younger brother?" Again, Sam nodded, wondering where this line of questioning was going. Marshall's brother put his hand on Sam's shoulder, pulling him in close and jabbing his finger in his face. "You treasure every damn second you get with your brother, you hear? Because one day he might be gone, and you will never feel like you've had enough time with him. Make my brother's death mean something here, alright? Every time you look at your brother, I want you to think of mine, and thank God that you still have him. Some of us don't have our big brothers around anymore. Will you do that for me?"

Sam nodded and Marshall's brother patted him on the shoulder before returning to his family.

Sam walked the short distance from the funeral parlor to the motel, finding Dean sitting on the trunk of the Impala with a beer in his hand when he got there ten minutes later.

"Where were you?" Dean asked, pulling out another beer from the cooler and popping the lid with his silver ring, handing it to his brother.

Sam accepted and washed down half the beer before answering. "Stressful week. I just had to take a walk to clear my head."

"In your monkey suit?" Dean shot him a skeptical glance.

Sam squirmed uncomfortably under his brother's gaze, half shrugging the question off.

Dean nodded understandingly, taking a long draught from his bottle. "Okay, so I think I found us our next case…"

Sam let Dean's voice wash over him like an old comfortable blanket. Despite their week from Hell, his brother was there. Dean was alive and well and healthy, and he wasn't going anywhere on Sam's watch.

Sam snuck a look over at Dean, who was still rambling on about this ghost house or something, and smiled a small smile. He closed his eyes, allowing himself to bask in the bright sunlight. " _Thank you, Marshall._ "

* * *

 **A/N:** And there you have it. Hope you enjoyed! Please drop me a line and tell me your thoughts! See you next week!


	13. Rebel With a Cause

**A/N:** Hey guys! Welcome back! I want to start with a huge shout-out to celinenaville for proofing this chapter and allowing me to rant and rave and bounce ideas around. Also many thanks to Shivs, attemptedvisions, hectatess, lenail125, celinenaville (again), and spnfanforlife for the wonderful reviews. This chapter is tagged to 1x13, _Route 666_. Hope you enjoy!

 **Disclaimer:** Everything recognizable belongs to The CW, Eric Kripke, and the Supernatural crew.

* * *

 **Rebel With a Cause**

When Dean was 15, he started hanging out with Heidi Pierce. She was a high school senior, bleach blond hair, and a friggin' cheerleader. Needless to say, he was pretty into her, especially when they would get busy behind the bleachers during their lunch break.

She seemed pretty perfect, at least in Dean's eyes. She didn't care that he had just rolled into town, or that he was living in a motel, or that he was probably gonna be taking off before the month was out, or even that he was younger than her. She was a bucket full of Daddy issues crammed into a plastic cup, which made her pretty desperate to please. Dean was on his sixth new school in a year, and didn't have anybody to talk to other than his kid brother. They got what they needed out of each other, and that was that.

One night they were supposed to be going out to the movies. Dean had saved enough money from raking leaves at the last motel to be able to afford buying actual tickets instead of sneaking in, and it was a horror movie, so he knew _exactly_ what would be happening during his date.

When he got out of the shower to get ready to leave, he found Sam sitting on the bed, eyes downcast.

"Sammy? What's wrong, squirt?" Dean rubbed the towel over his scalp before throwing it over his shoulder into the sink in the bathroom. It was four o'clock on a Friday; usually at this point, Sam would be sitting at the kitchen table finishing up his homework before settling down to watch whatever he could find on the small TV with crappy reception.

His eleven-year-old kid brother just shrugged while looking at his shoes. "Nothin'," he muttered.

"Sammy? Don't lie to me, kid. What's up?" Sam continued to sit there in stoic silence, so Dean just shrugged. Sammy was growing up, so it was probably just one of those things. That's what Dad always said anyway, and Dad knew everything, so Dean left the motel room half an hour later, calling a reminder back to Sam to lock all the doors and lay the salt lines.

So why was he still thinking about the miserable kid he had left behind at the grungy, outdated roadside inn when he was sitting beside the hottest girl in the twelfth grade? Dean huffed a sigh as Heather curled even further into his side. She had been giving him the signals for the past couple of minutes, but he just wasn't into it. Damn that kid! He trained his eyes on the movie screen, begging his subconscious to stop killing the mood.

A soft ringing echoed from Heather's pocket. She pulled out the clunky cellphone from her jacket, flipped it open, exchanged a few hurried words with whoever was on the other side, tucked the phone away and nestled further into his outstretched arm.

"What was that about?" Dean whispered into her hair.

"Ugh, my little sister. Apparently I promised to hang out with her tonight, and she's all pissy that I left. I mean, we hang out _every_ Friday night; God forbid I actually go out and have fun once in a while!"

"Don't worry, princess, I get it," Dean chuckled. He and Sam hung out every freakin' day, but Fridays were special. The end of the week meant that they had the entire weekend to train, do homework, and do chores before Dad came back (if Dad came back). They'd usually get a pizza and watch crappy old horror films loud enough to drown out what the neighbours were doing in their adjoining room. It had been a Winchester Brothers tradition since Sam turned four and Dad left them alone at the motel for the first time. They'd been doing it for years…

Damn…

"Hey baby, I've gotta jet," Dean whispered as he pulled his arm from around her shoulders.

"Seriously?" she hissed back at him, causing an older couple to shush them from a few rows back.

"My kid brother is sick or somethin'. I never shoulda come."

Her eyes flashed in the darkness of the movie house. "So you're saying that your brother is more important than I am?"

Dean felt the muscles in his neck jump as he clenched his teeth. "You're damn right," he hissed back at her.

He tore out of the theatre as fast as he could without the Impala, and made it back to the motel in record time.

"Sammy?" he called, shutting the door quietly behind him.

"Dean? What are you doing back? I thought you were going to the movies?" Sam shuffled cautiously out from the bathroom, rifle held at eye level.

"Yeah, I was," he replied, gently lowering the gun, flipping the safety on and laying it on the kitchen table. "Chick was a bust, thought I only wanted to 'watch the movie'. Chicks man!" Dean shuddered internally as the lies slid easily off his tongue. He hated lying, period, but he hated lying to Sammy even more. But it was completely worth it when he saw a bright grin shoot across his brother's features. It was gone as soon as he saw it, but it had been there.

"Sorry your night sucked, Dean."

Dean chuckled a little, watching his brother try to play it off like he was being sincere.

"No worries, little bro. What do you say we grab a pizza and watch those old monster movies that are completely inaccurate?"

Sam nodded eagerly, bangs flopping into his eyes, jumping at the chance to spend time with his big brother. Dean couldn't find it in himself to be pissed about a missed opportunity. Sam was gonna be a teenager soon, and wouldn't want to spend much time with him, so he was gonna soak up what he could.

Sam was never suspicious of why the date caved through; if he was, he never showed it, even when Heather spread a rumor that Dean had some grotesque deformation.

Dean was never happier to leave a town in the rearview.

* * *

The second time he ditched a girl because of Sam, it was Robin, and he hated it. But he had to do what was best for him, and that was being there for Sam and Dad.

He knew exactly what he was doing, and exactly what promises he was breaking, but the second he caught sight of that kid in the backseat of the Impala, he knew. He had been different during his time at Sonny's, sure, but different didn't always mean better.

So he shook Sonny's hand, walked out the front door, and was met with an armful of 11-year-old brother.

Driving past the school that night, Sam passed out with his head cushioned by his big brother's leg, Dean knew that Sammy would always come first.

* * *

Cassie was the last one he even attempted to half-ass an actual relationship with. Sure, he had a pretty bendy weekend with Lisa Braeden, but that was all that was. After the blowout with Cassie, he had pretty much been turned off of committed relationships for life.

Seeing her now, after everything that had happened, it was as though nothing had changed. Except, everything had changed. There were three years in between them, as well as a Sasquatch brother who had a pretty nasty habit of taking his revenge quest into overdrive.

"You could always stay, you know," she whispered as they stood near the docks, in the shadow of one of the buildings. From there, Dean could see Sam sitting in the Impala, tapping his knee impatiently.

Dean grinned ruefully, ruffling a hand through his hair. "You know why I can't, Case."

She nodded as she wrapped him in her arms, burrowing her head into his shoulder not unlike Lisa Braeden had done, and Robin before her, and Heather before her, and tens of girls in between.

"He needs you, right?"

Dean pulled back to look at her face, raising an eyebrow slightly. "What? Who?"

Cassie jerked her head in the direction of the Impala. "Your brother. Sam needs you."

Dean felt his face flush, and pulled back from her hug to rub the back of his neck awkwardly. "Nah, Sam…Sammy's always been fine on his own. He'd be fine if I stayed. I just can't. Too much evil out there, you know?"

Cassie smiled sadly. "You can keep telling yourself that, Dean. But ever since you got here, I've been trying to figure out what is different about you. And I finally put it together last night, when Sam called me for directions to the church. You two need each other. You keep each other balanced. When we were together, you were this bad boy, James Dean type; all brash and bold with no thought to the consequences. Now I'm seeing the rebel _with_ a cause."

Dean laughed as he slung an arm around her shoulders as they began walking towards the Impala. "Well, I'm not gonna complain about being compared to one of the greatest actors ever."

The mood quickly darkened as they walked along in stoic silence, the tension between them forcing Dean's arm off her shoulders.

"My mother says to tell you thanks again."

Dean nodded, thinking about the craziness of the past couple of days. Three dead bodies, a scorned lover, a ghost truck, and his Baby's fender was still smashed up pretty good thanks to Cyrus and his anger management issues.

"This is a better goodbye than last time," she smirked, and Dean had to agree. Last time, he'd opened up to her ( _the first time he'd opened himself up that much to anybody excluding Sam_ ) and she'd freaked out, calling him crazy and nuts and insane. This time, she knew he was right, and she knew why he had to leave.

And he did have to leave. The thing that killed Jess and Mom was out there, Dad was in the breeze, Sam's nightmare vision things were a definite problem that needed to be solved, and there were evil sons of bitches out there doing evil things.

So he did what he always did. He said goodbye, and left the town in his rearview.

* * *

" _You meet someone like her, doesn't it make you wonder if it's worth it? Putting everything else on hold, doing what we do?_ " Sam questioned as they cruised down the dirt road.

To Dean, it wasn't putting his life on hold. This was his life. Saving people, hunting things. The Impala growling under his feet, the sun shining through her windshield, and his baby brother at his side. James Dean may have been the consummate badass back in the day, but he had nothing on Dean Winchester.

* * *

 **A/N:** There you have it! I know it was kind of lacking on the whole Lisa front, and then on the Robin front as well, but I promise those characters will get their time in the sun. Also, there was obvious inspiration drawn from James Dean, who is one of my favourite actors ever, so if you haven't seen _Rebel Without a Cause_ , do yourselves a favour and watch it while you wait for next week! Have a good week everybody!


	14. Toil and Trouble

**A/N:** Hi everyone, and welcome back!

First off, thanks to celinenaville, Guest, attemptedvisions, lenail125, NightReader22, and spnfanforlife for the awesome reviews. These guys are my core gang, and I am utterly thankful for their never ending support, but I know there are more of y'all out there, so I invite you to join our little posse.

Second, this chapter is based off of episode 1x14, _Nightmare_. It's kind of a play on the title of the episode, and that idea alone led me to how many near-death experiences Dean has in the first season alone. That led me to the idea that Sam's nightmare would be not being able to do anything to stop Dean from dying (and I'm sure we'll come back to that a thousand times in seasons 8, 9, and 10). The chapter title comes from a line in _Macbeth_ (and _Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban_ ).

Lastly, I offer emotional support for those of us watching the season 11 finale tomorrow. Even though they're renewed for another season, I'm still scared. But we can get through this.

Now, on with the chapter!

* * *

 **Toil and Trouble**

 _Dean's lying on the ground. The bullet hole in his head is slowly seeping blood. His eyes stare unseeingly out at the world…_

"Nooooo!"

Sam felt the world pause.

This couldn't be happening.

He'd _just_ gotten Dean back from the disaster with the Rawhead and the Reaper. His brother had been torn apart, shot, stabbed, and had had a freaking heart attack before he hit thirty. Some kid throwing a telekinetic temper tantrum couldn't take his big brother down!

Could he?

Sam thought back to all those times he thought he had lost his brother.

Dean's first hunt at 10 years old, when 6-year-old Sam had had a panic attack at the realization that his brother might not come back. Bobby had been forced to drug him to the gills just to get him to go to sleep, and when he'd woken up Dean had been at his side, a haunted look in his eyes, but whole. Dean had thrown him a world-weary smile ( _and wasn't that just the worst phrase to apply to a ten-year-old?_ ) and shoved him over in the bed so that he could grab some shut eye as well.

There had been the poltergeist hunt when Sam had just turned 14, when Dean had gotten nailed by a baby grand piano, crushing his ribs and piercing a hole in one of his kidneys, all because he had been too distracted trying to keep Sam safe and not focusing enough on his own safety. When Dean had finally woken up two days later in a hospital room in Missouri after an emergency nephrectomy, Sam had bitched him out because now his big brother was functioning with only one kidney, and was going to be laid up for over a month so that his ribs and lung could heal properly. Dean had shrugged him off with some line about chicks digging scars, but Sam could still feel the fear bubbling right below the surface. It sat alongside the feeling of Dean's blood on his hands and that agonizing memory of his brother's chest being as caved in as it possibly could be without killing him.

Then there had been the wendigo hunt that left his brother alone, bleeding out, and half-dead with his intestines being held inside by a shoddy wrap job and the pressure of a shirt pressed haphazardly against his abdomen. A nurse had called him that day in February, stating that they had found Mr. Dean Mercury in his car outside of the hospital. Apparently, he had passed out before he could get out of the car. Sam almost knocked Jessica down the stairs as he raced out of the brownstone to climb into Zach's car so that he could get to The Middle of Nowhere in the great state of Who Cares. When Dean had come to ( _almost three pints of O negative later_ ) Sam had choked out that he couldn't do this anymore, and that, if Dean wasn't going to stop hunting, he'd prefer it if he changed his emergency contact to Bobby or Dad. It was the only time Sam had ever come close to seeing his brother break down. A moment passed where Dean had just regarded his little brother as some sort of stranger, as if the man in front of him wasn't who he thought he was, wasn't who he'd raised him to be. It was a look filled with confused anxiety; anxiety over being alone, over being left behind, over being forgotten. Then, it was as if the light inside of Dean had just flicked off as he nodded understandingly. Even the memory of such a look in his brother's eyes left a pit of sadness and guilt and angst inside Sam's gut.

After that had been Dean getting arrested trying to protect Sam in Jericho, then he'd been nabbed by that Wendigo at Black Water Ridge, then he'd almost drowned trying to save Lucas in Lake Manitoc, then that damn shapeshifter in St. Louis, then Sam himself had almost done his brother in while under the influence of Dr. Ellicott, then the scarecrow god, then the heart attack, and most recently the ghost truck.

For the first time in four years, they were finally facing problems the way they were raised to: back to back or side by side. One thing that Sam had never given up believing in was that he and his brother could do anything so long as they were together.

But they weren't together. Dean was upstairs and weaponless, with a civilian to defend, all because Sam had wanted to believe that he could say something to change Max's point of view. And Sam was locked in a closet, knowing that in a few minutes he'd hear a gunshot and his brother's body falling to the ground, dead. Every single time that Dean had been close to death, Sam had been there to help him through. Now, Dean was going to die, and Sam couldn't do jack to stop it.

He felt the fear of losing his brother bubble up inside him. It roiled somewhere deep inside his stomach, mixing with his anger at the situation, his hatred of Max, and his desperation to do something to stop his vision from coming to pass. But overall, the fire that was kindling his raging emotions was love. The love that he had for his brother assimilated all of those different emotions into one boiling, fiery pit inside of his stomach that forced its way up into his chest. Just as Sam felt like he was about to implode, the ball of emotion burst forth in one brilliant blast, flinging the cabinet out of the way as if it was merely a paperweight.

Sam stood breathless for a moment, unsure of what exactly had just happened. Pressing gently against the door and feeling it move beneath his hand, he didn't take the time to question or fear his growing abilities. He raced up the stairs, desperate to ensure his brother's safety.

* * *

Sam had never been happier to leave a town behind. With Mrs. Miller distracting the cops, Sam followed Dean out to the car. He shuddered at the fact that Mrs. Miller was now completely alone in the world, but knew that, given the chance, he wouldn't be chomping at the bit to go back and change the outcome. Max had died before being given the chance to kill Dean, and that was good enough for Sam.

He would never agree with Dean for fear of never being able to live it down, but he _was_ pretty lucky to have Dean in his corner on this whole telekinetic/psychic thing. Dean would never let him go dark side, and Sam would never be tempted to because he'd never want to put his brother in that position. They had each other's backs, and they always would.

* * *

 **A/N:** So, there you have it. I hope you enjoyed. Please drop a line and let me know what you thought, and good luck tomorrow with the finale. I'm all stocked up on tissues and popcorn. Adieu until then, mes amis.


	15. sibling, n

**A/N:** Hi everyone! Happy Last Day of May/First Day of June!

A quick word of thanks to NightReader22, hectatess, lenail125, spnfanforlife, and celinenaville. Thanks for reviewing! And to those who read but didn't review, thanks for reading! Anyway, I'm not gonna say that this one is one of my favourites, because it's not. But I think it's good enough to post, so there you have it. This one is tagged to 1x15, _The Benders_. It's told from Kathleen's perspective. I hope you enjoy!

* * *

 **sibling, n.**

If you are one of the lucky ones, there comes a time when a small, fragile life is placed into your arms and you are told to protect it, no matter the cost. For a lot of people, that's parenthood. For others, it's when you become an older sibling.

Being a sibling is no easy task, especially when you're the oldest. You spend the first couple of years of your life being the center of attention, then all of a sudden your mother is huge and can't chase you around anymore, and Dad is constantly telling you that you have to be careful of Mommy because you don't want to hurt the baby. And no matter how much you argue that you don't want a little brother or sister, they don't listen to you.

But then the baby is born, and all of a sudden you've got this red, screaming, seemingly unhuman thing plopped into your arms, and you realize that from this point forward your life is never going to be just yours. You don't care that Mommy and Daddy are spending all their time worrying over this thing that only seems to cry and sleep. You don't care that the baby wakes you up when the sun's not even out, or that Mommy and Daddy look more tired than you've ever seen them. All you care about is that little boy or girl who laughs at you when you make funny faces, or will only stop crying when you pick them up.

That's what happened when Riley was born. I was only five at the time, but I was pretty angry that he was a boy. Boys were icky and had cooties, but the second my parents placed him in my arms, I knew that he was _my_ baby brother. Not their son, not my aunt's nephew, but my baby brother. That was the only role of his that mattered to me.

I spent my whole life looking out for him. I was there when he took his first steps, said his first word. I snuck out of my 3rd grade class to check on him on his first day of kindergarten. I made sure to be discreet while checking up on him as he got older, but I was always there. Sure we fought, but we always had each other's backs. Even at the age of 12 he was trying to scare off any potential boyfriends of mine, and he always threatened to beat them up if I came home in tears. We were normal siblings, ticking each other off and messing with each other's stuff, but it was the best way of showing that we cared about each other.

I had been training to be a teacher when he went missing, and I felt like I had failed him, like, if I had been there, I would have been able to keep him safe. You spend your whole life looking out for someone, then you turn your back for one second and they're gone. Taken. No ransom note, no ears in the mail, just gone. I was so determined to find him that I became a sheriff, and worked my way up to covering all the missing persons' cases in Hibbing.

After years of searching and praying and following every single lead, I recognized the look of despair in the young man's green eyes from every mirror I've passed in those three years without my baby brother.

There was no way these two men were cousins. Sure, I'd known my fair share of close knit cousins before, but I knew the look of an over-protective older sibling when I saw it. This Gregory, or whatever his name was, would never stop looking for Sam Winchester, just like I would never stop looking for Riley. That's why I handcuffed him to my car door. I knew exactly what he would do to whoever took his…Sam…because I knew what I would do if I found who took my brother, and I couldn't let him take the law into his own hands like that.

But when I woke up in that cell, Sam in the cage next to me, my first thought was how wrong I was. In the exact same position, I would want to come face-to-face with the person who took my baby brother away from me. Sam looked at me with such relief when I told him that his cousin/the-Guy-I'm-Pretty-Sure-is-Actually-His-Supposedly-Dead-Brother-Dean was looking for him that I felt a wave of guilt over having left Gregory/Dean behind. If this was the end, shouldn't they have the chance to say goodbye to each other?

I knew my instincts were right when Gregory/Dean walked into that barn and made a beeline for his cousin/brother.

"Sam? Are you hurt?" The smile he got in return was bright enough to put the sun to shame. It reminded me of that time Riley had gotten lost in the woods and I had been the one to find him. The smile spoke volumes. It was a smile that said, " _I always knew you were coming. You'd never let me down_."

"No," Sam replied, shrugging his shoulders slightly.

Dean smiled back, smacking his hand down on the metal bars. "Damn, it's good to see you."

I questioned him about how he got out of the cuffs as I watched him stake out the barn for a way to get us out of the cages. The way they spoke to one another spoke of something deeper than a familial bond. They were brothers (of that I was sure), but they were also best friends. They relied on one another in a way that even Riley and I didn't. It was as if they were born and bred for the simple purpose of being there for one another. They didn't need anyone else, and I was pretty sure they never would. I knew what professionals would say, about the dangers of co-dependency or relying too heavily on someone else. But finding out that Riley was dead, taken and hunted by these monsters who had the audacity to call themselves human, I would have given anything to feel the weight of my brother's reliance on me resting on my shoulders once more. And, as I pulled the trigger, I hated the man in front of me most because he had taken away the one person I had always been able to lean on in times of trouble.

Watching the Winchesters walk away, I knew I had done the right thing. If they were caught, Dean would be sent to prison. If I tried to separate them, I knew I'd be in for a world of hurt. I saw what they were capable of doing when the other was in trouble, and I wished good luck to anybody who found themselves in that unfortunate position ever again. You just don't put yourself in between siblings. If you do, then you're going to get what's coming to you.

* * *

 **A/N:** So there you have it! Please drop me a line and tell me what you think. I love reading reviews!

Oh, and a quick, non-spoiler note about the season 11 finale: Holy Mother of God! I laughed, I cried, and I'm gonna be stressed until season 12 starts. If anyone wants to PM me or even drop a review to comment about the finale, I'd love your thoughts.

See you guys next week!


	16. An Emotional Study of Dean Winchester

**A/N:** Hi everyone! Hope you've all had an amazing week. I definitely have, and that is in part thanks to NightReader22, lenail125, celinenaville, hectatess, waitingforAslan, miss-olivia-winchester, Ceryle, and spnfanforlife. Thanks for reviewing gang! And thank you so much for sharing your own family stories with me.

So this one is a tag to 1x16, _Shadow_. I didn't really expect it to turn into this, as I really wanted to focus on John's happiness in seeing his boys together again. Unfortunately for John, I remembered this heartbreakingly emotional scene between the boys, and I just had to get into Sam's mind during it. So I hope you enjoy! Please drop a line when you're finished reading to tell me what you thought!

* * *

 **An Emotional Study of Dean Winchester**

"What are you going to do when it's all over?"

A relatively simple question that Sam already had an answer for. He wanted to go back to school. That had been his plan the whole time: avenge Jessica then return to finishing his degree. It was simple.

His hesitation, however, in asking the question, and receiving its answer, highlighted the depth to which he knew his brother. Dean Winchester was a man who flinched at the very idea of sharing his emotions. He was a man of few meaningful words. He could talk your ear off about music, cars, girls, and hunting, but if you ever tried to delve a little bit deeper, to get to know the Dean Winchester that resided just under the surface, he'd clam up and become what Sam deemed 'emotionally constipated'.

Sam wondered where that came from; whether it was a result of Mary's premature death and what he had told Lucas about not wanting to talk much after it, or if it stemmed from John's lack of emotion when it came to training and raising his sons.

Whatever the reason, Dean never really opened up emotionally to anybody. He shut down nine out of the ten chick flick moments Sam tried to have with him. He never cried in front of anybody, even when he broke his arm and had Dad reset it instead of going to the hospital. And after Cassie threw his emotional openness in his face, he sure as hell was never going to open up to a woman ever again.

Sam knew that his brother got uncomfortable when it came to emotional depth, which is why he was so shocked at his brother's anger at his admission that he wanted to go back to school after this whole thing was done and the demon that had stolen their lives was dead.

When he asked his question, he had a definitive answer in mind. He wanted to hear that Dean would give up hunting, settle down somewhere (hopefully close to wherever Sam decided to go to school), go to school. They could do normal, if they tried. Sam could show Dean how. They'd be okay. They didn't need hunting to make them brothers, it was right there in their blood.

"It's never gonna be over. There's gonna be others. There's always gonna be something to hunt," Dean replied resignedly but determinedly, strapping his hunting knife onto his wrist.

Sam sighed sadly. That was Dean. He knew what he was good at, and was sticking to it. Forget that it could get him killed, it was all he knew how to do. And Dean was never any good with change, despite moving around every couple of weeks as kids. He was adaptable for brief periods at a time, but he could never really shake off that niggling thought in the back of his mind that he should be on the move.

"But there's gotta be something you want for yourself—" Sam countered desperately.

"Yeah, I don't want you to leave the second this thing's over, Sam," Dean spat before turning his back on Sam and fiddling around with his gun on the dresser.

Sam struggled to take a breath, feeling like all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room at Dean's angry outburst.

This was the closest Dean had ever come to asking him to stay. He hadn't been given the chance the first time around, as Sam had been terrified that Dean would ask him to stay, and that he would agree. It wasn't very often that Dean asked something of Sam that wasn't related to a case. While working, Sam followed Dean's orders. Duck, run, shoot, salt. Those were the moments that were life or death situations, and any hesitation led to injuries or worse. But off the job, Dean rarely made Sam do anything he didn't want to do, or asked him to do anything for him. It was always Dean sacrificing for the family, for Sam.

Sam felt an old, familiar anger bubbling beneath the surface of his skin. If Dean wanted him to stay home from Stanford so damn badly, why didn't he say anything five years ago? Why did he think that he was the only one hurt by that brotherly amputation? Sam knew he wasn't being fair, knew that Dean would never begrudge him anything, but the despair that had coated his brother's words felt like it was suffocating him, and he felt his anger burst through as a survival mechanism. It was the way Dad had taught them: you can beat anything if you get angry enough.

"Dude, what is your problem?"

There was a pause as Dean leaned his hands down on the dresser and considered himself in the mirror. Sam wondered if he saw what Sam saw when he looked at him: a guy whose entire being is wrapped up in the people he cares about. Someone who judges his self-worth based on how others view him. Someone who is brave, and strong, and courageous, but considers himself worthless if he isn't being useful.

Dean let out a short, sad laugh as he hung his head.

"Why do you think I drag you everywhere, huh?" Dean said sadly as he turned to face him, causing Sam to look down in shame. He _knew_ that Meg's words at the bar had bothered Dean, perhaps even more than they had bothered Sam himself. He knew that his brother's self-esteem was at an all-time low (having a heart attack and your Dad not showing up to see you could do that to a guy), but he thought that they had gotten past at least the issues that had seemingly cemented when Sam had left for college, effectively abandoning his brother. Meg's words (" _My words_ ," a voice whispered in his mind) had apparently brought all those issues back. "I mean, why do you think I came and got you at Stanford in the first place?"

"'Cause Dad was in trouble. 'Cause you wanted to find the thing that killed Mom."

Sam refused to believe that his brother had ulterior motives, despite the whispers that started in the back of his mind when he heard the sadness in Dean's voice. He knew that Dean thrived on family and familial relationships. Dean prospered under the weight of taking care of his family. Sam knew that he had taken that away from his brother when he had left. He knew that Dean had been lonely. But he had to believe that it was Dad's disappearance that had brought Dean back into his life, and not his brother's desperation to be brothers again, because that would mean that Sam had failed. He had sworn to himself until he was blue in the face that his leaving would not affect his bond with Dean, but if Dean had come to Stanford because he was _lonely_?

" _I can't do this alone."_

" _Yes you can."_

" _Yeah, well, I don't want to."_

Oh God, the signs had been there the whole time! Dean may not have spoken a whole hell of a lot about how he felt, but that was because he saw actions as being more effective than words. Dean had come to him at Stanford, as humble as he'd ever seen him, and _asked_ him to be brothers again, to allow him to be a part of his life, even if it was only for a long weekend.

Dean sighed. "Yes, that, but it's more than that, man. You and me…and Dad—I mean, I want us…I want us to be together again. I want us to be a family again."

Sam felt his heart shatter in his chest. Dean thought they weren't a family. Dean wanted them to be a family. Dean needed them to be a family. Not only that, Dean was saying that he needed _Sam_. Dean had never _needed_ Sam before or, at least, he'd never admitted to it. Sam felt his stomach clench and his eyes burn. Leave it to Dean to ask for the one thing that he just couldn't give. He'd come too far to fall back in John's trap. He needed revenge, and then he needed out. But that didn't mean he didn't need Dean.

He looked over at Dean, attempting to quell the storm of emotions within. "Dean, we are a family." Dean opened his mouth to interrupt, but Sam beat him to it. If his brother wanted to talk about feelings and emotions, he was gonna take that opportunity and run with it. "I'd do _anything_ for you. But things will never be the way they were before."

Sam never hated himself more than he did when he caught the look of utter heartbreak in his brother's eyes. It was ten times worse than the look he got in the Seattle ER after asking Dean to change his emergency contact.

"Could be," Dean murmured sadly.

Sam steeled himself. "I don't want them to be." Sam kept his eyes downcast, knowing he would hate the look in Dean's eyes.

Dean had never really had much hope in his life. The constant moving around and not knowing when or if Dad would be back weighed on him, stamping out the hopeful innocence that he had so fiercely protected in his baby brother. Sam hated taking hope away from Dean, but he couldn't hurt him more by letting him hold onto it.

Sam met Dean's gaze head-on. "I'm not gonna live this life forever." Dean looked down sadly, and Sam almost choked on his words. Vulnerability was a look he did not like on his brother, especially when he was the one causing it. "Dean, when this is all over, you're gonna have to let me go my own way."

Dean looked up, and the two brothers shared a look from across the motel bed. Dean's gaze spoke volumes of pain and misery, while Sam's begged for understanding and acceptance and trust.

Sam didn't know if they would ever be able to reconcile their different definitions of family. Dean was as loyal as a Labrador, but he also placed family above his own wellbeing, and Sam refused to be a part of that, especially if it placed his life as being of greater value than his brother's. Sam thought of family as people who wanted to be there for you, because they loved you and cared for you. People who gathered around a dinner table to talk about their days, and congratulate each other on their successes and commiserate on any failures.

To Sam, that was Dean. Dean loved him and cared for him and wanted him to be happy. As much as Sam needed out of this life, he also knew that it would kill him to make his grand exit in a similar fashion to the one he made four years previous. This time, he was going to do things right. He was going to get Dean's approval and support before leaving, and he would fight tooth and nail to bring Dean with him. He wasn't going to distance himself from his brother. For the first time, Dean needed Sam as much as Sam needed Dean, and he sure as Hell wasn't going to let his brother down.

* * *

 **A/N:** Well, there you have it. I actually really enjoyed writing this one; it still moves me to tears when I read parts of it. Poor Dean, thinking he has his precious baby brother back, only to find out that Sam sees it as temporary. Anyway, please drop me a review to let me know what you thought! And have a good week!


	17. Roadside Assistance

**A/N:** Hi guys! Welcome to another week. Many thanks to lenail125, hectatess, Ceryle, and spnfanforlife for their reviews. I truly appreciate them. So this one is tagged to episode 1x17, _Hell House_. Now, the original plan was to go funny for this one, focus on their pranks. But I realized, I'm not a funny person. My drama teacher once said that I was stuck in a straight man's no-man's-land, and that description is pretty apropos. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it despite the lack of humor.

 **Disclaimer:** No es mio.

* * *

 **Roadside Assistance**

Dean drove silently through the night, racing away from Chicago and the Daevas and his father. No rock music, no jokes, nothing but the purr of the Impala's engine and the occasional yawn from the driver. Not even a word from a very pissed off little brother sitting shotgun.

Speaking of, Dean glanced over at Sam, who was staring moodily out the window at the passing landscape of the I-80. Dean sighed, and ran his hand through his hair in frustration. He hated it when Sam got all emo on him, especially recently. With Jess being gone for less than a year, and now them having to leave Dad in the dust, Dean knew that Sam had reason to revert to his brooding teenage behavior, but it didn't mean that Dean had to put up with it.

Dean sharply but smoothly guided the car over to the guardrail and shut the engine off, pocketing the keys. He got out of the car and walked around to lean on the passenger side by the trunk, arms crossed. He waited there until he heard the slam of the door and the crunch of Sam's footsteps on the gravel.

"Why'd we stop?"

"Listen Sammy. If you want to say something to me, just say it. But no more of this silent treatment crap. I think we're both a little too old for it." Dean looked up and saw Sam standing a couple of feet away from him, staring up at the moon.

Sam shrugged. "I don't know what you're talking about, Dean."

Dean snorted. "Oh please, the tension has been so thick since we left Chicago that you'd need a chainsaw to cut through it!" Sam shifted to look down at his toes, rolling a single rock back and forth with his foot. Dean rolled his shoulders as he steadied his emotions. "Look, I get that you're pissed. I told Dad to leave. All we've done for months is look for him, and the second we find him, I tell him to hit the road. I'm sorry, but I wouldn't do things differently." Sam looked up at him sharply. "Oh, look at that. A reaction. Look, bro, if you want to hit me, go ahead."

"I'm not going to hit you, Dean," Sam muttered, kicking the stone at the guardrail.

"Then can you at least yell at me or something?" Dean whined. "Look, dude, it's not like I sent him off for no reason! Your pal Meg and her leashed demonic pitbulls nearly got the three of us killed, all because that bitch wanted her shot at Dad."

"If you want to say that I screwed up with Meg, just say it, Dean," Sam grumbled.

Dean sighed, pinching his nose between his thumb and forefinger as he rested against the Impala. "I'm not blaming you, you moron. How the hell were you supposed to know that sweet little Meg with the doe eyes from some random back road in some random town was the spawn of Satan? Besides, you knew that she was sketchy the second you laid eyes on her in Chicago." Dean shrugged his shoulders. "You came through when it counted, Sammy. That's all anyone can ask."

Sam groaned and kicked off from the car, causing Dean to give him the side eye. "I should've known earlier! I should never have even spoken to her when I left Burkitsville. God, I'm such an idiot! I should never have told her the things I did; I should've listened to you and Dad. Now because of me, Dad's in the wind _**again**_."

"Hey, hey, hey, Sammy, it's okay." Dean grabbed him and shoved him back against the car before he could unknowingly walk into oncoming traffic. "It's not your fault! The bitch was probably following us, waiting for her chance to catch us off guard."

"Yeah, but she never would have gotten her chance if I had just stuck with you in Indiana! God, Dean, after everything we've been through, I was just willing to walk away from you _**AGAIN**_! If I had just been a good brother, and stuck with you, then she never would have gotten so close, and we'd be with Dad right now, hunting down the demon!"

"Hold up a second! Rewind; who the hell says you weren't being a good brother? And what is this crap about walking away from me 'again'?"

"Don't pretend, man! I've been a pretty lousy brother to you lately. First I didn't answer half your phone calls when I was at Stanford! Then I completely cut you loose when you were at the hospital recovering from a wendigo attack! Then leaving you back in Indiana. Now this. I just…Damn it, Dean, I feel like I don't know up from down lately!"

Dean pulled Sam close, laying a comforting hand on the back of his neck. "I don't blame you for any of that, Sam. With Stanford…yeah, it stung when you left and it hurt like a bitch when you told me to change my emergency contact, but I got it. You wanted out of the life so damn badly, and I wouldn't come with you, so you did what you had to do. And I'm not gonna lie, you were a selfish bastard leaving me to handle the scarecrow case on my own. But you started hunting again to kill the thing that killed Mom and Jessica. So I may not like it, but I get why you left me then, too. But none of that makes you a bad brother. And you want to know something?" Sam looked up at him with pain filled eyes. "Even if it did, it wouldn't matter. Sammy, your girlfriend died less than a year ago. You're back to traveling all the time, and throwing your life on the line for ungrateful idiots, and even though I am a _delight_ , I know that it can't be easy. Cut yourself some slack, kiddo. It's not like it's the end of the world or something."

Sam looked up at him with watery eyes. "I need to be a part of this fight, Dean. I need to kill this demon."

"I know, Sam. And we will. But we've got to do it together. You, me, and Dad. We'll make this SOB wish he had never crawled out of Hell. I promise."

Sam sniffed and straightened. He nodded at his brother, causing Dean to pat him gently once more on the neck before opening the passenger side door and sliding over into the driver's seat.

"Alright, are we done with this chick flick moment? If we keep going, I feel like Aniston is gonna pop out of nowhere and try to braid your hair."

Sam smirked as he slid into his seat and slammed the door shut. "Shut up, jerk."

"Next time, don't pull the silent treatment, bitch."

* * *

 **A/N:** So there's that. I hope you enjoyed. Please leave a review if you did, or even if you didn't.

I'd like to leave you on this one with a prayer for everyone in Orlando and around the world affected by this tragedy. Love is love is love is love is love is love is love.


	18. Child Soldier

**A/N:** Hola, readers! Welcome back to another week of my authorial interpretations of these wonderful characters. Many thanks to Guest, NightReader22, lenail125, Kirsten, waitingforAslan, celinenaville, spnfanforlife, and hectatess for the kind words.

So this one is tagged to 1x18, _Something Wicked_ , another one of my favourite episodes. Please enjoy! And don't forget to drop a review at the end!

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me. This is just my interpretation written for fun, not for any profit.

* * *

 **Child Soldier**

 _ **Fort Douglas, Wisconsin**_

Dean sat shaking in the worn out old armchair in the corner of the motel room. Every time he shifted, the springs poked and prodded at his young skin, but he didn't care. He barely felt a thing through the numbness that had taken over his entire body.

Dean stiffened slightly as John exited the bedroom, leaving the door open to reveal Sam, sound asleep in the bed he shared with Dean. John huffed as he dragged the other chair around to face Dean, plopping himself down into it with his elbows on his knees. He opened his mouth, unsure of what was going to come out. Sure, he had had his hand forced in disciplining his eldest son in the past, but this sort of situation warranted something larger than any kind of punishment he had ever doled out before, and he hated every single thought that popped into his mind about what he may have to do to his beloved son to ensure this type of disobedience never happened again. He opened and closed his mouth several times before Dean cut him off with a shaky voice.

"Whatever my punishment is, sir, I won't whine or cry about it," Dean stared down at the garish orange carpet with his arms wrapped around him. "I just want you to know, it won't be half as bad as what I deserve, or what I'm telling myself right now."

Dean looked up at his father with tears in his eyes, and John felt something inside of him break. He had never been good with either of his boys crying; he just didn't know how to handle it. When Mary had died, Dean hadn't cried. He'd just stopped talking to anyone but Sammy, but he'd still dealt with all of Sam's tears like a pro. He didn't cry when he'd sprained his ankle a year and a half previous, or when he had the chicken pox when he was six. He hadn't seen Dean cry in years, and the tears dampened his anger into a firm disappointment.

"Dean," he sighed, running a hand over his beard. "How could you leave your brother alone like that?"

"I'm just so tired, Dad." It was a thirty-year-old man's voice coming out of a nine-year old's body, which quickly morphed John's disappointment in Dean into disappointment in himself. "I know that the hunt is important, and I know that Sammy is my responsibility, but I'm so tired! I needed a minute, just a _minute_ , where I could be normal. I know we're not normal, that we have a job to do, but I just needed to get away from all of Sam's questions for a little."

"Dean, do you know what would have happened if that shtriga got its hands on Sam?" Dean nodded, looking appropriately ashamed. "Then you know just how stupid and selfish your actions were. I know that it can't be easy for you Dean, but you need to grow up and take care of your brother. We can't be selfish; Sam and all those innocent people need us."

"Yes sir," Dean whispered. He slowly stood. "I'm ready for my punishment." He turned his back on his father and stood stock still.

John sighed. He could almost feel Mary's glare on his back, and he knew that he had failed at this whole parenting thing without her. He had never laid a hand on either of his boys without reason, but Dean had come to expect violence from him, probably because of all the yelling and swearing he did when a hunt went badly. Dean didn't deserve half of the crap that he laid on his shoulders, but he didn't know how to stop. He needed to avenge his wife, and if that meant treating his sons like soldiers, well, that was the only way he knew how to cope.

"Sit down, Dean. I'm not going to hit you, or spank you. But you're on weapons duty, and you're grounded for the next three months. You're to go to school and come back to the motel, that's it. You're also going to be doing double duty on training. One training session in the morning, one in the evening after you get home. You are not to lag behind on your homework, your chores, or your responsibilities to Sam. Am I understood?"

"Yes sir." John expected his son to exude an air of relief, but, if anything, he grew even more despondent. John chalked it up to fear and numbness, and turned to go into the bathroom. He looked at himself in the mirror, and resolved to try to do better by Dean. He had dreamt of playing catch with Dean, and teaching him how to take care of the Impala, and enjoying all the different stepping stones of childhood. But all of those dreams had burned along with his beloved wife. Still. It didn't sit right with him to hear that his nine-year-old was exhausted. A kid was a kid. Maybe he could drop the boys off at Bobby's for his next hunt, give Dean a break. But he wouldn't rush into it. He didn't want Dean to think that he was rewarding his bad behavior.

* * *

Over the next few days, John witnessed a disturbing change in his oldest son. Dean performed all of his responsibilities without complaint, but it was clear that he was wearing thin. Grey bags stood out prominently under his green eyes, and his gun shook during shooting practice. Yet, he never made it obvious. If anything, he tried to hide his exhaustion from his father.

A week later, John had had enough. He resolved to get to the bottom of Dean's issues the next day as he got ready for bed. They had promptly left Fort Douglas after the shtriga had gotten away, and were currently shacked up in a roadside inn outside of Ann Arbor, Michigan. One room, no kitchen, and stuck in the fifties in terms of décor. Thank God they were able to get a room with two beds. Dean and Sam were already settled into the bed furthest from the front door, so John flicked the light in the bathroom off and, after double checking the salt lines, flopped into his own bed.

It was only a few hours later that he heard a slight shift from the bed next to him, promptly pulling him from sleep. He turned his head to the right, and could feel a pair of eyes staring back at him. Pulling his lighter from the nightstand, John flicked it on and met his oldest son's gaze.

"Dean, what are you still doing awake?" Dean shook his head quietly, keeping the rifle aimed at the door. "Let's try that again. What are you doing?"

"I'm not gonna let it take Sammy, sir. This time I'll be ready."

John sighed, wishing not for the first time that Mary was still around to cover this whole parenting thing. His own father had abandoned him when he was just 10, and his step-dad hadn't exactly been father material, so he was pretty lost on how to deal with his own boys.

"Dean, the shtriga is not coming back. I scared it bad enough that it's gone back into hiding for the next decade or two. Nothing's going to get your brother."

"All due respect, sir, but you can't know that. Sammy's my responsibility, and I'm not going to lose him. I _can't_ lose him. I'm not going to make another mistake." Dean's voice was firm, even as exhaustion seeped into his every word.

John sat up in his bed, swiping the sleep from his eyes. "Dean, when was the last time you slept?"

Dean shrugged his shoulders but kept the gun steady. "I go to sleep after you wake up, sir."

"Son, you can't function on so little sleep. Go to sleep now."

"I'm sorry, sir. But I can't."

"Why not?"

"Nightmares," Dean admitted softly. The confident tone of his son's voice wavered with fear, causing John to close his eyes in shame. He knew that Dean had screwed up, but Dean knew it too, which made his punishment seem so counterproductive. Dean wasn't learning any lesson; he was only adding to the strain that was already bowing his too-young shoulders.

"It's okay, Dean," John reassured softly. "I know that was the first time you've come face-to-face with a monster. It's scary. I know that. I froze up the first time I saw a werewolf. Almost wet my pants."

Dean looked up at him with wide eyes, making him seem his age for once. "Really?" he whispered.

John nodded over-exaggeratedly. "It happens to the best of us, kiddo. But we pick up, we move on, and we push forward. That's what I need you to do." Dean nodded slowly. John reached over and gently removed the rifle from his son's hands, leaning it against the side of his bed. "Go to sleep, son. We're leaving early tomorrow morning."

"Yes sir," Dean yawned, burrowing down into the mattress with his back to his brother.

"I'll drop you and your brother off at Bobby's. I've got a case in North Dakota, and he's been bugging me about seeing you boys." John cracked his eye open at his last statement and caught the broad grin on Dean's face before he fell asleep.

He was going to do better by his boys. Dean didn't deserve to be so tired, and Sam didn't deserve to grow up in such a transient lifestyle. Once he got the damn thing that took his wife, he would make it up to them. He just had to.

* * *

 **A/N:** So I hope you enjoyed that! The last chapter I wrote containing John didn't really get a whole lot of buzz, so I hope I did better on this one. Please leave me a review to let me know! Cheers! See you next week!


	19. Remembrance

**A/N:** Hi everybody! Hope you all had a good week. Okay, first off, a little announcement. Next week, on the Friday, I'm going on vacation for a week. So rather than skip a week, I'm going to be updating twice. If it goes well, I might start doing that on a regular basis for a while because I'm bored.

Next, thanks to celinenaville, NightReader22, lenail125, hectatess, spnfanforlife, and waitingforAslan for their kind words. I'm glad you all enjoyed the last chapter! Now, this one is based on 1x19, _Provenance_. Not my favourite episode, but I hope you enjoy the little fic I've written up. Please review!

* * *

 **Remembrance**

Sam sighed in frustration. This was the nineteenth time Dean had made some sort of inappropriate comment about him and Sarah, and he was really starting to get tired of it.

"Dude, enough already!" Sam complained. He wasn't really sure what Dean wanted. He'd already gone on a date with Sarah and, even though it was great, he knew they were leaving soon. How was it fair of Dean to expect Sam to get attached to somebody and then rip himself away, especially after what happened with…

"What?" To his credit, Dean actually did look surprised and befuddled by Sam's anger. Sam tried to rein in his frustration, knowing that his brother was probably just trying to look out for him the only way he knew how. But still.

"'What?' Ever since we got here, you've been trying to pimp me out to Sarah. Just back off, all right?"

"Well, you like her, don't you?" Dean sat up in his bed, leaning forward and resting his arms on his knees.

Sam raised his arms and eyes to the ceiling in exasperation, trying to figure out a way to make Dean understand. He wasn't like Dean. He couldn't just pick up a girl in every bar they walked into and have a good time before calling it a night. He had never been that way. After his first 'relationship' ended with him leaving the state ten days after they got together, Sam had sworn to himself that he would never put himself through that again. He'd dated a couple of girls before Jess in college, but those relationships had ended on his terms, not based on where he was moving to next. Besides, he actually liked Sarah, and didn't want to hurt her, physically or emotionally.

"All right, you like her, she likes you, you're both consenting adults…" Dean trailed off suggestively, waggling his eyebrows in Sam's direction.

"What's the point, Dean?" he yelled. "We'll just leave. We always leave," his voice rang with the quietness of defeat.

Dean slid to the end of the bed and planted his feet on the ground. "Well I'm not talking about marriage, Sam."

Dean's callousness broke him. His love life or sex life was no business of his brother's. He'd managed to land Jessica just fine without Dean; he didn't need his brother as a wing man to pick up girls, especially if said brother was batting a thousand in one night stands. "You know, I don't get it. What do you care if I hook up?"

Dean considered him calmly. "Cause then maybe you wouldn't be so cranky all the time."

Sam huffed in disbelief. Trust his brother to make a joke at a time like this. Sam was trying to have an open conversation about this, like they had after they left Dad in Chicago, but Dean wasn't biting. Sam ran his hands through his hair and turned his back on his brother. Why did he bother? Dean may be the only person he could talk to about this, but that depended on Dean actually wanting to talk.

He didn't turn when he heard Dean start speaking again.

"You know, seriously Sam, this isn't about just hooking up, okay?" he said quietly. "I mean, I—I think that this Sarah girl could be good for you." Dean watched his brother's response closely. Lately, he didn't know what was going to set Sam off. With the visions and Meg's betrayal and leaving Dad in Chicago, it was hard to pinpoint just how well Sam was coping with it all. Recognizing the signs of getting through to his brother, he continued. "And…I don't mean any disrespect, but I'm sure this is about Jessica, right?" Dean felt his heart clench in sympathy for his baby brother. He'd spent his entire life shielding Sam from pain, but this was one hurt that he couldn't sew up, medicate, or shoot. "Now I don't know what it's like to lose somebody like that…but…I would think that she would want you to be happy." Dean smiled grimly at the tears in Sam's eyes. He knew that Sam hadn't really cried since the funeral, but he hoped that the tears now meant that Sam was finally coming to grips with the fact that Jessica wasn't coming back. "God forbid have fun once in a while. Wouldn't she?"

Sam chuckled a little at the joke, which was what Dean had been hoping for. "Yeah, I know she would." He felt a smile creep across his face before the rest of his situation crashed down upon him again, causing him to sigh. "Yeah, you're right. Part of this is about Jessica. But not the main part."

Dean sat forward, ready and willing to help. "What's it about?

Sam shook his head, refusing to answer. He didn't want or need a pep talk from his brother, even though it was nice to know that he still had Dean in his corner for all matters in his life. Luckily, Dean let the matter go for the moment, easily changing the subject back to the case.

But driving away from New Paltz, New York, Dean brought it up again.

"So…" Dean drew the word out as long as he could, causing Sam to roll his eyes and laugh.

"Yeah, yeah, Dean. Go ahead, say that you were right." Sam smiled out the window. It was the most at peace he had felt in a long time. Dad was alive and on the demon's trail. Dean wasn't dying. No visions. No nightmares. And nobody had died on this one, except for poor old Evelyn.

Dean took a glance at him from the corner of his eyes and noted the look of contentment. He was hesitant to bring down Sam's mood, but he knew what he had to say would be important.

"Hey Sammy?" He received a hum in response, which spurred him on. "I am sorry about Jessica, and I'm sorry if it seemed like I was pushing you into this thing with Sarah. I just…Hell, I don't know what I wanted. Maybe I just wanted to see you get back into the swing of things again. You were always so hell bent on normal, that seeing you so lasered in on the hunt was starting to scare me a bit. But I'm sorry if it was disrespectful to her memory or somethin'."

Sam squinted against the sunlight to look in Dean's direction. "You weren't being disrespectful. I know you were just looking out for me." They sat in silence as the Impala ate up the road beneath them. "I always told myself that I would introduce you to her one day. Invite you over for dinner or meet you at a bar. When I thought about asking her to marry me, I knew there was only one choice for who could be my best man. I just wish you could've spent some time with her," Sam said quietly.

Dean kept his eyes trained on the road but nodded as the emotion in the car ramped up. "I wish I could have too, kid. I bet between the two of us we could have embarrassed you so bad."

Sam laughed. "Yeah, she would've loved hearing all the insane things we got up to as kids. She told me about this one time with her brother, when they were maybe 10 and 15…"

Dean smiled internally as Sam opened up, sharing stories about his relationship with Jessica and how much fun they had together. He sent a silent prayer to her, thanking her for taking care of his baby brother at a time when he was unable to do so. Sarah had been good for Sam in that she had allowed Sam to finally begin to move on, which was what Dean had been hoping for all along. He knew that it would be a long and hard road to get over Jessica, but he was determined to do whatever it took to make that journey as easy as he possibly could. He owed them both at least that much.

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 **A/N:** Thanks for reading! Please review! I'll see you twice next week!


	20. A Father's Role

**A/N:** Hi everyone! Happy Summer! Happy Canada Day to all my people! And Happy Independence Day to all my American friends/readers! Thanks to Sallyannerenee, NightReader22, lenail125, hectatess, celinenaville, spnfanforlife, and 332249 for your amazing reviews!

Just a reminder, I'm going to update again at some point on Friday, because I'm leaving on vacation and won't be able to update next week. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter! It's tagged to 1x20, _Dead Man's Blood_. And yes, it features John. Please review to let me know what you think!

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing here belongs to me.

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 **A Father's Role**

"Dead man's blood? Are you kidding me?" Dean asked as he stuffed his Colt into the waistband of his suit pants. "And it's actually supposed to be some sort of toxin to vamps?"

"Yep," John replied, handing Dean the coroner's office badge and the address of the nearest funeral home. "One drop of the stuff and they go down like they've been shot with a tranq gun."

"And why does _Dean_ have to go and get it?" Sam asked from his perch by the rickety kitchen table in the corner of the room. Dean shot him a look, but Sam had eyes solely for their father.

"Because _Dean_ is better at these kinds of situations than you are," John replied in an equally acidic tone.

"Do you mean breaking and entering, stealing, or lying?" Sam shot back.

"All of the above."

"Bull."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me! Dean and I have been working as a team for months, hell, years even! In the last six months alone, we've pulled off all three without breaking a sweat!"

"It only takes one mistake, Sam!"

"That's what you always say! When are you going to accept that we are both adults and that we are your equals!"

"I'd be able to see you as an adult if you stopped acting like a child every time you don't get your way!"

"Enough! Both of you!" Dean finally managed to wedge himself between his father and brother and shove them both back to being out of each other's reach. "I'm not gonna be going to pick up nothin' from nowhere if I think I'll be coming back to a homicide investigation! Dad, go sit on one of the beds and get some shut eye or somethin'. Sammy, just sit here and do research, okay?" Dean clasped his brother's shoulder in a way that was both a warning and strangely comforting. After years of thinking that Dean always took Dad's side, he'd spent enough time with his brother recently to have gained a fresh perspective. Dean was doing his best with what the two of them gave him, but he never truly took sides unless one of them was being completely idiotic. Sam looked up at Dean and nodded, as John paced over and settled himself in the bed closest to the door. "Thank you. I'll be back in two shakes. Just, behave yourselves, please." Dean clapped Sam on the back reassuringly before heading out the door.

Both of the remaining Winchesters waited until they heard the familiar roar of the Impala's engine before turning to each other. Sam fixed his father with a glare, causing John to sit up and slap his thighs.

"Alright, Sammy, let me have it."

"First, don't call me Sammy. Only Dean gets to call me Sammy. Second, what the Hell has Daniel Elkins got that your sons don't?" Sam spat.

John looked genuinely surprised at the turn the argument had taken. "What?"

"Oh please, Dad, I'm not five anymore! Don't try to pull that innocent bystander crap with me, I've been watching you pull it on civilians for years! I know the signs."

"Sam, I honestly don't know what you're talking about," John sighed.

Sam stood up violently, knocking his chair to the ground as he did. "You dropped off the map, which scared Dean so bad that he thought he had no other option than coming to get me at school. Then Jess dies, in the _exact_ same way that Mom died! You'd think that you've been hunting this thing for so long that you'd _actually_ show up when it makes an appearance. But no, you just keep sending us jobs. Jobs that nearly get us killed! Dean actually got taken by the wendigo in Blackwater Ridge, then a shapeshifter in St. Louis framed him for murder! I actually thought that you would be concerned enough to check in when you saw your son's face plastered across every newsstand in America, but why would you? You're never shown any concern before!"

"Sam…" John rubbed his face with his hands. He didn't know how to explain to his son, either of his sons, why it was safer for them to be apart.

"Dad, those aren't even the worst ones! We had to go back to Lawrence because Mom's spirit was haunting our old house! We tried to get ahold of you, but you didn't answer any of our messages! We had to hunt our own mother!"

John closed his eyes in shame. That one had been on him. He had been just a few blocks away when he had frozen, unable to face the wreckage of his life in the flesh. Instead, he'd holed up at Missouri's and waited his boys out. When Missouri had told him that Mary had sacrificed herself again for their boys, he felt like the biggest jackass in the entire cosmos. She was protecting them from the grave, and he couldn't even drive by their old house.

"Dean had a heart attack," Sam said quietly, so quietly that he almost didn't hear him. "He was dying, Dad." Sam looked at him with tears in his eyes. "I know you saw death in the war, and you watched Mom die, but do you have any idea what it's like to watch someone you love fade away like that, right in front of your eyes, slowly and painfully? I had to sit and listen to some know-nothing doctor tell me that my brother was going to die of heart failure at the age of 27, and that it was going to happen within a month. I had to watch Dean accept that, and act like it wasn't bothering him that his own father probably wasn't going to show up to say goodbye! He needed you, Dad! _I_ needed you! How do you think we felt?"

John thought about the moment he heard Sam's voicemail. He had been working a case outside of Mexico City, and had shut his phone off. When he got back stateside and turned his phone on, his heart had dropped to his toes when he heard the tearful message that began after the beep.

" _Hey, Dad. It's Sam. Uh…you probably won't even get this, but, uh…it's Dean. He's sick, and uh…the doctors say there's nothing they can do. Um…but, uh, they don't know the things we know, right? So, don't worry, cause I'm uh…gonna do whatever it takes to get him better. Alright…just wanted you to know._ "

John had become frozen in his seat with the knowledge that his son was dying and he wasn't by his side, and his youngest was all by himself trying to deal with it.

Another beep had broken his morbid train of thought, and John remembered heaving a sigh of relief when he heard Sam's voice, slightly slurred, come through the speaker.

" _Never mind, you selfish bastard. I figured it out on my own. He's gonna be fine, no thanks to you. Don't bother checking in, not like you would anyways. I guess I just wanted you to know that your son is gonna live._ "

"Sam," John sighed, standing up and moving over to the kitchen table. "I was out of town working a case of my own when you two were hunting the rawhead. By the time I was back into cell range, Dean was already better. I got both of your messages at the same time, so there's nothing I could have done. But even if I had, I don't know that I would have been worried." Sam jerked his head up to look at him with a gaze that was filled with furious surprise, causing John to bark out a chuckle. "Okay, I would have been worried about Dean. But I wouldn't have been worried about him dying. If there's one thing I know almost as well as I know hunting, it's that you and your brother always have each other's backs. So long as you boys are together I know that everything's gonna turn out okay. I knew you'd figure out a way to save your brother, Sam. Just like I know that Dean will go to the ends of the Earth to save you. There's a lot of crap going on in between us, but that's one thing that will never change."

Sam nodded and began to pace the motel room, pondering his father's words.

John watched his youngest son as he walked in circles around the room. It was a father's role to prepare his children for a future without him. Turns out, John Winchester had prepared his boys for a life without a father, and he couldn't have been prouder. They didn't need him and, as long as they had each other, they never would.

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 **A/N:** Thanks for reading and reviewing! See you guys on Friday!


	21. Legacy

**A/N:** Hi again! Thanks to spnfanforlife, hectatess, CeCe Away, and Sallyannerenee for reviewing! You know it means a lot. Okay, last reminder that I'm not updating this coming Tuesday. I will not be in the area, and will probably be way too busy to even try. So please enjoy!

This chapter is tagged to 1x21, _Salvation_. The title was inspired by the lyric "What is a legacy? It's planting seeds in a garden you never get to see" from _Hamilton: An American Musical_. John never did get to see his boys save the world over and over and over again, but they are his legacy, and I think he would be proud of them.

 **Disclaimer:** If I owned _Supernatural_ , you can bet my vacation would have been longer than one week.

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 **Legacy**

" _I want you to go to school, I want Dean to have a home. I want…I want Mary alive. It's just…I just want this to be over_."

When Mary had first told John that he was going to be a father, he'd almost passed out. All the blood had rushed out of his head, and he'd had to lean against the wall of their little house in Lawrence. She'd crowded into his space, holding his face in her hands to make sure he was okay as he stood there gaping at the news. When he'd finally come back to his senses, he picked her up and swung her around in his arms, shoving down the thought that he hadn't had a father, and that his step-father was a prick, and that he had no idea what to do in nine months' time, and focusing instead on the knowledge that a little human life was growing contentedly inside of his radiant wife.

Over the next few months, John committed himself to being there for Mary. He held her hair back during morning sickness, made midnight runs to the local gas station whenever she wanted salty barbecue chips, and painted the walls in their spare bedroom light yellow because they couldn't agree on a colour (she was convinced it was a little girl; John, on the other hand, just knew that they were having a son). He lovingly stroked her pregnant belly and whispered to his precious son after she had fallen asleep.

On January 23rd, 1979, he raced his wife to the hospital in the trusty black Impala that had never let him down, just like that stranger had said all those years ago. Sitting next to Mary, letting her squeeze the life out of his hand, he decided that he would happily go trek through all the jungles in Vietnam if it meant not having to see his wife in so much pain. But at 1:17 a.m. the next morning, he would have given anything to never have to leave his son's side. Dean Henry Winchester made his loud, outraged entrance at a time when everyone else in Kansas was dead to the world. Looking back, the situation was pretty telling.

He spent night after night just sitting in Dean's nursery, watching his newborn son sleep, dreaming about all the things they would do together. He'd teach Dean how to play catch, ride a bike, go fishing. He'd teach him how to take care of the Impala, then teach him how to drive her when he turned 16. He'd watch his son grow into a man, go to college with the savings account that his father so diligently deposited $100 a month into, then go on to have his own little slice of paradise with his own radiant wife and his own little newborn to dream and fret and cry over.

Four years later when Mary got pregnant again, John got to watch little Dean take care of his mother, and it was then that John realized just how much of a caretaker Dean was. John smiled, knowing that his son would grow up to be a fine man one day, and that he would be an excellent husband to whatever lucky woman was able to nail him down.

Samuel Alexander Winchester arrived mid-morning on May 2nd, 1983 with far less fanfare than his brother. He cried, but did not scream. He settled right down against his mother, and fought against being transferred into his father's arms. John once again paid a visit to the bank, and started Sam a savings account so that he could go to school and become just as great a man as his brother.

After Sam was born, he and Mary started having more fights. She was exhausted over taking care of two kids, though she maintained that Dean did all he could to help her take care of Sam. He and a buddy of his had taken over the local garage, so he was putting in more hours than he had been, meaning he wasn't home as often as he used to be. They fought over little things, like who would do the grocery shopping or take Dean to play at the park. Then they fought over bigger things, like work and money and parenting. Then John moved out for a week, opting to sleep on the couch in his office at the garage rather than fight with the woman he would happily die for. But he had never stopped loving her, or his quickly growing Dean-O, or his precious little Sammy.

Somewhere along the line, he had forgotten what that warmth felt like. The warmth of love and home and happiness. He'd replaced it with the cold of early morning training sessions and the chill that came with digging up graves in November in Chicago at 3 a.m. He'd become a drill sergeant instead of a father, and he cursed himself every time his boys addressed him as sir instead of Dad.

But he still had those dreams for his boys. He wanted Dean to have a wife, and kids, and a two-car garage. He wanted Sam to go to school and succeed in his intellectual pursuits, even if he had thrown a fit about it the first time. But most of all, he wanted his boys to be there for each other, as they always have been.

Watching them together over the past couple of days, he realized just how wrong he had been to kick Sam out, not only for Sam's sake but also for Dean's. The way Dean valiantly defended his brother when the topic of Sam's visions came up showed John that, despite all of his failings when it came to being a father, their brotherly bond was one thing that he had been unable to break. He had feared that, when he forced Sam to go out on his own, he had done irreparable damage to the love and respect they had for each other. He had never been so happy to be so wrong.

Seeing the way his boys still jumped to each other's aid, knowing that Sam had searched so thoroughly for a cure to Dean's heart condition, and watching the way Dean seemed to know exactly what Sam needed when coming out of one his visions, John knew that he would never have to worry about either of them, so long as they were together. He hated being an outsider in his boys' lives, but he felt that preparing them for this life was worth that sacrifice. He'd told Sam as much a few days previous, but he knew that neither of his sons fully understood the depth of the pride he had for both of his kids.

They may not have turned out the way he expected them to, with educations and homes and families, but they were so strong and fiercely protective of each other, and so unwaveringly good that he could not bring himself to completely regret his decisions.

In the end, it wasn't all the hunts he had finished or all the monsters he had killed that mattered. His sons were his legacy, and he couldn't be prouder.

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 **A/N:** Okay guys, I'm gonna go rush to the airport! Have a good week and I'll see you when I see you! Please review!


	22. Someone to Kill For

**A/N:** Bonjour, mes amis! Comment ca va? I'm back from my week in London and Paris! I'm exhausted and jetlagged, but the first thing I wanted to do was update! Amazing how a break can do such wonders for you. First off, I would like to thank lenail125, Sallyannerenee, waitingforAslan, hectatess, spnfanforlife, and celinenaville for their awesome reviews! Second, this chapter is tagged to episode 1x22, _Devil's Trap_. This is a little history of Dean's violent tendencies, so I hope you enjoy!

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me. If it did, I would still be in Europe.

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 **Someone to Kill For**

The first time Dean killed something, he was 10 years old and scared to death.

It had been a simple Rawhead hunt, just something to get his feet wet after John noticed Dean's fears after the incident with the shtriga. He wanted to help his son shake off his yips, so he brought him along on a low-risk hunt, equipped with a Taser that had a pretty decent range so that his son didn't have to get too close to the freak he was hunting. The hunt had gone successfully, with Dean pointing the Taser at the Rawhead and frying it up with his face turned in the other direction. John spent the drive back to Bobby's place lecturing Dean on the importance of keeping his eyes on the target, just in case the damn thing doesn't go down. Dean nodded his head mutely as they pulled up to the salvage yard, before bolting up the stairs and into his and Sam's room after being dismissed. When John went up to check on them, he felt a brief flash of raw terror when he saw that Dean's bed was empty. He smiled sadly when he noticed both of his sons sleeping back to back on Sam's bed, with Sam facing the wall and Dean facing the door. He mourned the loss of Dean's innocence, but he also knew that Dean would be more focused than ever on taking care of his brother now that he knew exactly what was out there.

The first time Dean killed something to protect John, he was 13 and it was probably the death that tore him up the most, up till that point at least. John took him out on a werewolf hunt to help up his son's hunting game. John conceded that it probably wasn't the best hunt to send a rookie on, but he knew that he would be there with his son every step of the way, and that Dean would never forgive him if he took it easy on him. They'd been hunting together on and off for the past three years, with John taking him on the easier, low-risk hunts like ghosts and rawheads, and Dean had been begging him for some time to take him out on the hunts he usually teamed up with Bobby or Caleb or Pastor Jim for. When Bobby had called him saying that he was tied up in a chupacabra hunt in New Mexico, and Caleb was laid up with a broken leg, and Jim Murphy had a christening to perform, John had warily agreed to take his son, because it was either that or wait another month.

Somehow (and John never really figured out how, but chalked it up to their damn Winchester luck), they got separated in the woods and Dean had hunted his father down only to find the werewolf had gotten there first. Without a second thought, he had raised his pistol and fired two shots into the werewolf's heart. It wasn't until the beast had transformed back into a young teenage girl that Dean had lost his nerve and his lunch.

John had comforted him with a slap on the back and a grunt of thanks for having his back, but he knew that he couldn't tell his eldest that it was all going to be okay, because their line of work meant deaths and sacrifices, and he needed Dean to get on board with that. They had driven back to the motel a couple of hours away in complete silence, with only the chattering of Dean's teeth and the heater that was on full blast and stuffed full of Lego blocks to fill the air. When they walked in the front door, Sam had thrown himself at Dean, yammering on about something or another, John didn't notice what, but he did notice that Dean returned the hug with more ferocity than he ever had before, holding Sam a little closer and a little tighter in the dim light of the motel room. Sam seemed to understand that his brother needed him, so he filled the rest of the night with chatter and jokes and interesting facts about anything he could think of, anything that would make Dean smile. John sighed in relief when it seemed to work, Dean's smile allowing him to breathe a little easier, comfortable in the knowledge that his son wasn't completely traumatized by the events of the hunt.

The first time Dean did anything even remotely violent on behalf of Sam, he was 15 and his 11-year-old, eggheaded brother was being psychologically tortured every day by the biggest brute in the sixth grade. At the age of 11, Sam was still on the short and slender side, though Dad's intense training regimen had him filling out a little quicker than his peers. When Dean had swung by the primary school to pick his kid brother up and witnessed the beat down that Stanley Morris was putting on Sam, he had almost literally seen red, and had the kid pinned to the brick wall in a matter of seconds. He had his forearm pressed against the kid's sternum, and his face was no more than two inches away from the face of the little prick who dared to lay a hand on his baby brother.

" _You try that again, I'll rip your friggin' lungs out,_ " he had hissed menacingly at Morris, who looked like he was about to wet himself.

" _Dean, please don't. He's not worth it._ " Sammy was tugging desperately on the arm of his leather jacket. At the sound of his brother's voice, he had stepped back, placed that same arm reassuringly around his brother's shoulders, and walked away. Sam had whined the whole way back to the motel that he didn't need his big brother's protection and that Dean threatening him was only going to make Stanley come at him harder tomorrow.

Luckily for them, John had rolled into town during the altercation with the order to pack up and move out. Sam never felt the repercussions of Dean's actions, and Dean never worried about getting sent to prison for killing some punk kid in a Podunk town. Still, Dean always felt a small jolt of fear whenever he thought back to those years of protecting Sammy from the schoolyard bullies. That red hot bolt of rage had terrified him, and he would have given his right arm never to have to feel it again.

The first time Dean killed for Sam, he was 17, and he would do it again if he had to.

The Hell Hound hunt was supposed to be easy. It was Sam's fifth or sixth hunt, and Dean had finally started to loosen his grip a little when it came to keeping Sam in his sights. The three Winchesters were walking in a loose semi-circle through the forest that the Hound had run into when John had shot at it to protect the idiot who had traded his soul for his dental practice. John was 30 feet to Dean's left, while Sam was 10 feet to Dean's right. All three had their rifles pointed out into the darkness when the damn thing attacked from above, leaping out a tree to stand a few feet ahead of them. They could hear the snarling and the heavy crunch of leaves under its paws. John was too far away to do anything when the thing went for Sam, but Dean was quick and agile and made an educated guess as to where the beast was so that he could tackle the mutt from the side, effectively throwing it off its Sam-centric course. He shot it once, twice, three times in the chest before it went down, splattering Dean with black blood as it died. The slashes to his chest and arms were worn like badges of honor, knowing that he had done his absolute best in protecting his family.

Needless to say, Dean had ganked a lot of bad sons of bitches in his time, most of them because they were trying to hurt his family.

Still, that fiery anger scared him sometimes, especially when he knew the consequences of his actions.

That girl, Meg. She hadn't deserved to die. She was innocent, jumped by black smoke and a demonic bitch who wouldn't take no for an answer. But that demon had taken their father, so all bets were off.

The guy that had been with her hadn't deserved to die either. He was just as much a victim as Meg, but he had been trying to kill Sam, and so he had to die. The fire in his limbs that was stoked by his protective instinct demanded it.

Then it had turned out that the damn Yellow Eyed Demon was riding shotgun in his father, and Sam looked so lost as to what to do. Get revenge on the thing that stole his life? Or save his father and lose the chance to kill the thing that had killed his mother, killed Jess, and who knew how many others?

But Dean knew that he couldn't let his father die. He was willing to let the YED go for the chance to have a family again. He knew that Sam and Dad would hate him for it, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He'd rather have a family and know that the demon was out there than have to bury either his brother or his father or both.

" _Killing that guy, killing Meg. I didn't hesitate, I didn't even flinch. For you or Dad, the things I'm willing to do or kill, it's just, uh…it scares me sometimes_."

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 **A/N:** Poor Dean. Damned if he does, damned if he doesn't. Well, that's one season down! I feel like I should have posted this last week before I went away, so that it felt like a seasonal break instead of a brief vacation, but oh well. Live and learn. I hope you enjoyed! Please drop me a line to let me know what you thought, not only about this but about this whole 'season' of one-shots. See you on Friday for the beginning of Season 2!


	23. Terror

**A/N:** Happy Friday everybody! I hope you all had a good week. I know I did, which is in part thanks to hectatess, NightReader22, lenail125, waitingforAslan, Mariamo, Guest, and spnfanforlife. Thanks for the reviews everybody! I know I didn't respond as usual to some of them, but I think there's an issue with the site. I can't see some of the reviews, even though they land in my inbox.

Anyway, welcome to 'season 2' of my one-shots. This chapter is tagged to 2x01, _In My Time of Dying_. Obviously, it's going to be an emotional one. The words in italics are all synonyms of 'terror', which is the chapter title. I hope you all enjoy!

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me. The Winchesters and the plot all belong to the CW. I'm just playing in their sandbox.

* * *

 **Terror**

Sam Winchester did not do well with terror. _Fear_ he could deal with, considering the way he was raised. He grew up surrounded by the things that go bump in the night, so of course he was comfortable with _fear_. It fit him like a second skin. He was always _concerned_ for his brother (and father), he was filled with _self-doubt_ , and he was _suspicious_ of basically everyone he had ever met. The night he left for Stanford, he'd been _dismayed_ at the turn of events that led him to a life without the comforting support of his brother by his side. He'd been _horrified_ when Jess died. Terror, however, was something he'd never come across.

Terror made him scream his brother's name when he noticed that Dean wasn't breathing. Terror spread through his veins when Dean didn't react to his call, because Dean never let his little brother down when he needed him, not once in 23 years. Dean always fought back from every injury and illness because his Sammy needed him, surely he would fight back to help keep his Sammy's terror at bay. But Dean stayed still and unconscious and two steps closer to death than Sam would ever care to see his brother ever again.

The terror gripped him tightly, choking him as he gasped to the helicopter EMS staff to make sure his brother and his father were okay. It made his blood run cold for the first time since the fire at Stanford had scorched him from the inside out, leaving embers to burn within him.

He awoke in the hospital, alone and exhausted, yet the terror still had a vice grip upon his heart. He didn't care about the minor surgery that was performed on his eye, or even notice the stitches that had been put in one of the cuts he'd received from the shattered glass. He'd bolted from his hospital room as soon as he checked himself out against medical advisement, and took the stairs three at a time up to the second floor ICU.

He paused just outside of Dean's room, staring in at his unresponsive brother who had more tubes coming out of him than could possibly be healthy. He leaned against the frame of the door, the breath knocked out of him at the impossibility of the sight. "Oh no," he whispered as he felt his stomach drop to his toes.

He never liked the sight of his brother in a hospital bed; it was an all too familiar image because of their line of work. Seeing Dean resigned to a hospital bed again, so soon after having his heart attack, almost dropped Sam to his knees. His brother had always been active, bouncing on beds, racing around the gravel courtyard of whatever motel they were rooming in as kids, driving wherever he could once Dad relinquished his precious car to him, constantly looking for a new hunt. Seeing his unstoppable big brother lying so unnaturally still in the uncomfortable hospital bed drove all thoughts of his father right out of his head. Sure, they had been working on their relationship since teaming up after the vampire nest. Of course Sam had forgiven his father, at least partially, after John shared his reasoning for not wanting Sam to go to college, as well as his past hopes for his boys. But still, Dad wasn't Dean. He'd never been _Dean_. He'd never really needed his father, but he'd always needed his Dean.

And right now, his Dean was lying pale and broken in a hospital bed and Sam blamed himself. He should never have befriended Meg. He should have killed John when he had a chance, because when it was a choice between Dean and Dad, there was no contest. He should have seen that semi coming from a mile away. He shouldn't have been arguing with Dad, and should have been more focused on getting his ailing brother to the hospital as fast as he possibly could. If he had just been paying attention, or if he had just killed the demon, or if he had never let the demon get the jump on them by never getting close to Meg, none of this would have happened.

Sam felt the endless barrage of couldas and wouldas and shouldas wash over him as he moved hesitantly into the room to stand over his brother. He was cautious to touch him, as though the very thought of such an action would dissolve Dean into ash. He was anxious to say something to his big brother, to bring him back to the world of the living, but, just as he had been when standing above Marshall Hall's body, he'd been struck dumb at such an impossible sight. Thankfully, he was spared any attempt at a speech by the doctor who had wandered in.

"Your father's awake," he said in a practiced, gentle tone. "You can go see him if you like."

And weren't those the key words. ' _If you like_ '. How could he possibly leave his brother here in this strange place, alone and unconscious and vulnerable? Sam had been in his fair share of hospitals, and Dean had never left his side once when he was hurt. He took mother-henning to a whole new level, and Sam felt like he owed his brother at least the same treatment.

"Doc, what about my brother?" he asked in almost a whimper, as though he were afraid of the answer.

The doctor shook his head in pity. "Well, he sustained serious injury: blood loss, contusions to his liver and kidney. But it's the head trauma I'm worried about. There's early signs of cerebral edema."

Sam felt the earth drop out from under him. A brain bleed? Contusions to his one remaining kidney? Dean had been roughed up before, but nothing like this. Sam hadn't even been this afraid after Dean's heart attack. At least then he had had a chance to talk to Dean, to see that Dean wasn't about to give up. Now, Sam didn't know what he was up against. He didn't know a spell or a hoodoo priest that could undo all of the damage that had already been done.

"Well, what can we do?"

"Well, we won't know his full condition until he wakes up," the doctor replied in the professional tone that grated on Sam's last nerve. "If he wakes up."

"If?" Sam wouldn't have been surprised if he looked down and saw his heart lying on the pristine white floor of the hospital.

"I have to be honest…"

Sam tuned the doctor out. His brother was a fighter, that much was true. But the Winchesters didn't exactly live in the realm of realistic expectations. For a second, Sam regretted stopping Sue Anne and her pet reaper. If he had left them alone, then they would owe him one and he could call in that chit to save Dean. But that chit was nonexistent. Still, he would find something. Even if he had to turn over every rock in the whole damn universe, he would find something to heal his brother.

Knowing that Dean was a spirit wandering the halls of the hospital didn't exactly do anything for Sam's nerves either. It just meant that Dean was closer to death than originally thought, which sent Sam's researching skills into overdrive. He poured over every book, every website, called every contact that John and Bobby had, and all the contacts that Pastor Jim and Caleb had left behind. When all was said and done, and no possible cure was in sight, Sam's stubbornness kicked in. Staring down at his brother's almost lifeless body, Sam knew that he had to keep trying. Dean would never quit on him, and he would never quit on Dean.

"Dean, are you here?" He looked around the room, desperate for some sort of sign. If a reaper was actually haunting the hallways of the hospital, Dean could not go with them. He couldn't leave Sam, because Sam didn't know what he would do if he did. "I couldn't find anything in the book. I don't know how to help you. But I'll keep trying, all right? As long as you keep fighting. I mean, come on, you can't—you can't leave me here alone with Dad. We'll kill each other, you know that." Sam paused. If Dean was in the room, and Sam couldn't find an answer to their problem, then Dean needed to hear this. "Dean, you gotta hold on. You can't go, man, not now. We were just starting to be brothers again."

The rift that Sam had caused, the rift that he hated, the rift that he had never meant to occur, had just closed up. All that they had been through over the past year had brought them back together, and Sam couldn't imagine his life without his brother in it. So much had happened since Jess died, and Dean had been there through it all. Dean was the foundation on which Sam built his life, and if that foundation was to crumble, Sam knew that he would too.

* * *

 **A/N:** So there you have it! Please let me know via review what you thought. I'll see you on Tuesday! Stay safe and be kind to one another!


	24. Last Will and Testament

**A/N:** Hi everybody! Hope all is well. This is the next installment of _In His Glow_. I just realized that this is the longest fic I've ever written, so I'm pretty proud. Many thanks to DearHart, lenail125, Sallyannerenee, NightReader22, hectatess, celinenaville, and spnfanforlife for their awesome reviews! And thanks to all who read but didn't review.

So this chapter is tagged to 2x02, _Everybody Loves a Clown_. I hope you all enjoy it. I will admit, it's a bit on the short side. I didn't realize it until I looked at the word counter and almost had a heart attack. It's still two pages on Word, but significantly shorter than any of the other chapters. I hope that doesn't make it lesser in content than its brothers and sisters. Anyway, please leave a review and let me know what you thought!

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing belongs to me, except for Caleb's last name.

* * *

 **Last Will and Testament**

Too many funerals in one year.

Jessica Moore.

Marshall Hall.

Pastor Jim Murphy.

Caleb O'Connell.

John Winchester.

John's precious sons built the pyre themselves. Bobby helped them get the body released from the hospital when they wanted to keep it long enough to do an autopsy. Bobby cited some religious reason as to why that was impossible, and loaded John's body into the back of his truck.

Sam and Dean met him at the clearing just inside Kansas' state line. John would have wanted his ashes spread as close to his beloved wife as possible. The pyre was already built and towering high above the dried grass. Gasoline and salt lay on the ground beside the pyre, ready to be put to use.

Bobby handed the body over to the boys, taking in Dean's stoic expression and contrasting it with Sam's tear-stained cheeks and expressive eyes. He quietly bowed out, knowing that this was something the boys would have to do on their own, though he was loath to leave them at such a time as this. Dean would undoubtedly leave his own grief to stew in order to take care of his brother. He left a note under the windshield wiper of the clunker he had towed down for the boys to use until Dean fixed the Impala, saying that the boys were to come and stay with him when they were done, no exceptions.

Dean carried the brunt of his father's weight the short distance to the pyre, with Sam handling the legs. They carefully placed him on the wooden platform and stepped back.

The wind stopped, the crickets silenced. No car passed on the highway a mile away. Dean was barely breathing, while Sam was struggling to keep his breathing normal so as to not alert Dean to his impending emotional breakdown.

Dean stood there staring at the impossible sight. John Winchester was a badass, unstoppable, immortal superhero. He'd survived the war in Vietnam. He'd survived countless hunts. Hell, he'd even survived being possessed by a pretty powerful demon. There was no way on God's green Earth that a car crash could take John Winchester down. Deep down, in that dark aching place in his gut that he refused to acknowledge, Dean felt like he knew what had happened, but thought that it would kill him to come to terms with it.

Sam made the first move, walking over and picking up the gas can. He held it out to Dean, the can trembling with Sam's emotions. The look on his face was pleading, basically begging Dean not to make him go through this alone. Dean took the can from him, keeping his face in a schooled mask of blankness.

In a calm manner that belied the emotion brewing within both brothers, the salt was sprinkled and the gasoline was poured and the match was lit.

The flames consumed their father just as they had consumed their mother; like they had consumed Jessica.

No words were spoken. The words did not exist. To lose a mother at a young age leaves a hole in your life. To lose a loved one causes a broken heart. To lose a father, one that was nowhere near death, only for him to drop dead at the very moment that you come back to life? Dean had no idea how to even express his anger, his rage, his sadness. Even if he could, he wouldn't. Sam needed him. Sam would go on a massive guilt trip about how he should have killed the Demon while he had the chance. Sam would blame himself for the car accident. Sam's emotions were always written across his face, and Dean knew that Sammy needed him. Dean had carried Sam out of two fires, he would carry him away from this one as well.

"Before he…Before, did he say anything to you? About anything?" Sam murmured, staring into the flames as though they would reveal the secrets of the universe to him.

Dean thought back to that hateful message his father had left him with, and it spurred him into action, even as he stood there blank-faced. He'd lost his mother, his father, and too many of his friends to count. Nobody was going to take his little brother away from him. He'd kill anybody and anything that tried.

"No. Nothing."

Dean snapped himself back into soldier mode. Pick up, move on, push forward.

Get to Bobby's. Find a case. Fix the Impala.

A moment ago such a feat would have seemed impossible, but now he had a mission. He had a cause.

He was going to protect Sam. He would hold the broken pieces of their family together until they stuck. He was not going to lose anybody else.

He cast a glance over at his brother, whose eyes were shining with tears in the firelight. Back to back or side to side was the way John Winchester had taught them to deal with their problems. Sam was by his side and he would damn himself if anybody tried to take him away. He'd deal with everything one step at a time, burying his emotions so deep inside of him that nobody would ever find them.

Dean Winchester was a man on a mission, and he was going to fulfill that mission even if it killed him.

* * *

 **A/N:** There you have it! I hope it lives up to your expectations. Please leave me a review to let me know! Love you all and see you on Friday!


	25. The History of a Nickname

**A/N:** Howdy everybody! Hope everyone is doing alright. I'd like to start by thanking sallyannerenee, waitingforAslan, lenail125, hectatess, celinenaville, spnfanforlife, and zekeschance for the awesome reviews. I'm so glad everyone is enjoying these little fics. You have no idea how much your support means to me.

This chapter is tagged to 2x03, _Bloodlust_. One thing I love about this episode is that it introduces one of my most hated villains of the show, Gordon Walker. That SOB pissed me off from day one. Another thing I love about this episode is "Only he gets to call me that", which is the line that this chapter focuses on. I hope you all enjoy! Please drop me a review to let me know how I did!

* * *

 **The History of a Nickname**

The first question out of Dean's mouth when he first met his little brother was "What are ya gonna call him, Momma?" When she replied that the baby's name was Samuel, Dean had scrunched up his little nose and said, "Do we hafta call him that?" John had tried to explain that the baby was named after Momma's Daddy ( _who hadn't really liked John at all, but they left that part out of it because Dean's middle name was Henry, and he hadn't exactly been a shining role model either_ ), but Dean wasn't having it.

"We can call him Sam for short, Baby," Mary told her young son as he leaned over the arm of her rocking chair to get another glimpse of his little brother.

Dean considered the little red, lumpy thing for a moment, thinking hard. "I'm gonna call him Sammy," he announced proudly, as though he had just solved the most difficult puzzle on Earth.

Mary tried it out, tasting the word on her tongue before smiling. "I like it, Baby."

Thus, Sam became Sammy and it was the most natural progression in the world for both Mary and Dean. John, in his stubborn way, stuck to Sam for the first little while, before it slipped into his everyday vernacular. It was mostly because of Dean's confusion whenever he asked how 'Sam' was, as though 'Sam' was a stranger to him. How funny it was that a small child's turn of phrase could so easily worm its way into everyday speech.

The humor in it stopped when Mary died, which is about the same time that John's use of 'Sammy' disappeared. Dean still used it, perhaps even more than he had before Mary's untimely passing, as though he were trying to make up for her loss by using the nickname more and more frequently.

As John became more and more involved in the hunting community, his number of acquaintances expanded, though a very select few of them were allowed to meet the boys. When Pastor Jim met them on a rainy April night, they were automatically 'Young Sam' and 'Young Dean'; it was just his way. Caleb called them 'sport' and 'slugger', often interchangeably because they were never far from one another.

Bobby was the first hunter the boys ever felt at home with, so he was the first one to hear Dean call Sam 'Sammy'. He tried it out once when Sam was about two years old, but only received a glare from Dean and a loud cry of "No!" from the toddler for his efforts, so he quickly backed off.

Every once in a while John would try to reintegrate the nickname back into his life, as though it could salvage his constantly weakening relationship with his son, but it never quite stuck. Sam would either scoff or just plain ignore him, while he always got a chilly look from Dean whenever he tried.

After Sam left for Stanford, all efforts to add the extra letters to the already short nickname were laid to rest. Dean became just 'Dean' to Pastor Jim and Caleb. Jim could see that the heartbreak Dean had encountered was enough to age him far past being called 'Young'. Caleb could not undo the damage already done by mixing their nicknames. John refused to acknowledge Sam's absence unless they were directly faced with it ( _yet another reason he preferred hunting solo than with his eldest after Sam's departure_ ).

Sam also shied away from the moniker while at school, for much the same reason as his brother hated hearing it. Luis called him Sammy once at a 'Getting to Know You' mixer in their dorms the first week of school. It made him feel as though the soundwaves had shot right through him, more painful than any bullet or knife he had ever encountered. Luis learned almost as quickly as Bobby that adding '-my' to Sam's name was a one-way ticket to the cold shoulder.

Jessica had tried it out once in a teasing manner, but quickly backtracked when she saw the tears in Sam's eyes ( _though, in his defense, he'd been away from his family for three years at that point, and it was November 1_ _st_ _, so he was already feeling pretty damn emotional_ ). She'd apologized, comforted him, and silently listened to his explanation that only his brother was allowed to call him Sammy. Jessica had immediately understood the importance of Dean in Sam's life. After all, she was one of the people to witness when Brady had told Sam to stop being a little bitch, and Sam had held him against the wall until he turned red because "Nobody calls me a bitch but my brother, you got that Brady?"

After that incredible display of violence from meek, shy, sweet Sam Winchester, nobody dared call him anything but Sam, even behind his back. It wasn't until October 31st, 2005 that he heard it again, and it felt as natural as breathing. With anyone else, the moniker sounded fake or phony or like they were talking to a baby. But despite the childishness of the nickname, Dean had a way of making it sound like it was a part of him, that part of him that he'd tried to cut away while in Stanford.

"You alright, Sammy?" It was the tone of the big brother, Sam had come to learn. Dad had always tossed it into a conversation to try to curry favor with him. Luis and Jess had said it in a joking way, as though he were acting like a baby about something. But Dean had a way of adapting it through the ages to make it appropriate.

"I'm fine."

"Well, lighten up a little, Sammy," Gordon said with a smile on his face, leaning back in his bar chair to drain the last of his beer.

The reaction was automatic, as conditioned as his hearing or his reflexes. "He's the only one who gets to call me that."

Sam thought he could see a small smile of pride from Dean as he gathered up his belongings to leave, even as he tossed out a comment about how 'Sammy' could be a buzzkill.

He'd spent almost the entire year after leaving Stanford claiming that he was 'Sam'. Sammy was a chubby twelve-year-old. Sammy was a hunter. Sammy was everything he'd tried to leave behind when he went to college. But Sammy was also Dean's brother, and they were all each other had left, so he sure as hell wasn't going to deprive Dean of calling him whatever the hell he wanted.

* * *

 **A/N:** There you have it! Hope you enjoyed! Send me a review or a PM to let me know, please! Alright gang, see you on Tuesday. Have a good weekend (a good long weekend to any Canadian readers), be safe, and be a good person!


	26. No Contest

**A/N:** Hi everybody! This is an update after a very busy day, so I'm gonna be honest: I can't wait to read the nice things I hope you'll all say, because I could really use a pick-me-up right about now. Thanks to lenail125, waitingforAslan, NightReader22, hectatess, and spnfanforlife for their awesome reviews. This chapter is tagged to episode 2x04, _Children Shouldn't Play with Dead Things_. What did Sam do with all that information Dean threw at him? How did he cope with his brother's emotions? This is how I think that night played out for Sam. It also hearkens back to something I wrote in a previous chapter, about there being no contest between Dean and Dad when it came to Sam.

 **Disclaimer:** This is only what I think happened. I'm not a writer for the show. If I was, I wouldn't be on here.

* * *

 **No Contest**

They had stopped right outside of Topeka for the night. Dean claimed that he wanted to find a doctor to look at Sam's hand, but Sam knew that his brother was emotionally drained from their heart to heart on the Impala's hood.

Sam made sure that Dean was knocked out on the twin bed in the western themed motel before laying the salt lines and sneaking out of the room. Sam had mentioned going to a walk-in clinic to get his hand checked out, so he didn't have to lift the car keys from his brother's jacket. Still, he felt a little guilty about leaving Dean so vulnerable, both emotionally and physically. Sure, he was the one with the broken hand, but emotional breakdowns always took so much out of Dean, and Sam knew Dean wouldn't wake up even if Old Yellow Eyes was standing over him. But this took precedence. This was something he needed to do, just like attending Marshall Hall's funeral.

He stopped by the doctor's office and got a temporary splint put on until he could get an appointment at the hospital for a real cast. Then he stopped at the cemetery outside of Lawrence. He walked up to that very same grave that he had visited a few days previous. The grass and soil was still disturbed by his burying his father's dog tags in front of his mother's tombstone. He sat down on the slightly dewy grass and sighed, staring at the letters engraved into the marble. He could almost see the flames of his father's funeral pyre gleaming against the brown stone in the light of the setting sun.

"Hey Mom, hey Dad," he murmured. "I know, two visits in the same week, you're gonna get sick of me." He chuckled morosely at the thought. This was only the second time he'd been to his mother's gravesite in his life. Dad and Dean had never taken him, and he'd tried so desperately to deny that part of his life during college that he'd never bothered to go. "I know, bad joke. But, I'm…I'm worried about Dean. He's so different since you died Dad, and he blames himself.

"I don't remember what it was like after you died, Mom. How could I? I know Dean said he didn't feel like talking much after the fire, and I can remember Dad mentioning Dean didn't do much but take care of me in the months following it. He said Dean would barely let me out of his sight. This is different though, and I mean no disrespect to you, Mom. Dean loves you and I can tell it still kills him every day that you're not here with us. But Dad…Dad was Dean's hero. Dean always wanted to be just like Dad. And now he's gone, and Dean's trying to put up a strong façade to protect me like he always does, and he's not taking care of himself. He thinks he is, and he thinks he can carry it all by himself, and he doesn't let me help him!" Sam sniffed back his tears at the thought of his brother's pain. He hadn't allowed himself to cry when Dean was unloading all of his emotional baggage, because Dean had needed him to be the strong one at that moment. But God, it had hurt to see his brother in so much pain.

"He blames himself, Dad. He's got it in his head that you traded your soul and the Colt to the Demon to save his life," Sam swiped his hand across his cheek as the tears started to fall. "The thing is, I think that's exactly what you did. You were fine. You were walking and talking and arguing with me just a few minutes after Dean woke up. Dean was dying! His one kidney was shutting down, he'd lost too much blood to survive without an immediate transfusion, and his brain was bleeding! Then he wakes up and the doctors can't find any evidence of anything ever being wrong with him in the first place, and you drop dead after asking me, _not ordering me_ , to stop fighting with you! I just—" Sam choked as his tears closed up his windpipe. "I'm just so conflicted right now," he whispered into the chilly night wind.

Did it make him a bad son if he was grateful that his father made that sacrifice for Dean?

Did it make him a bad brother if he said he wished his father hadn't made that deal?

It had always been no contest when it came to Dad or Dean. Dean was his brother. Dean was his best friend. Dean was his caretaker, his role model, his number one cheerleader. Dean was the one sitting in the bleachers for every soccer game, and sitting in the crowded auditorium for every school play. Dean was the one he called when he had the flu, or when Billy Burkowitz broke his nose in the 10th grade, or when Angelica Gibson broke his heart. Dean was the one who slaughtered an entire werewolf pack in order to get to Sam's high school graduation. Dean was…Dean was a lot of things to a lot of people, but to Sam he was just the best.

Dad…Dad was Dad. Biological in role, but absent in responsibilities. Everything a dad was supposed to do was done by Dean. Maybe that was why John and Sam fought like brothers, while Sam and Dean had fought but ultimately respected and loved one another in a way that transcended a brotherly bond.

Sam knew he wouldn't have made it as far as he had without Dean in his corner. But that didn't mean he didn't love his father. He did, especially now that he knew the taste of vengeance against the Yellow Eyed Demon.

Still…

"Listen, I don't know if you made that deal or not, Dad. If you didn't, then something really weird is going on around here. But if you did…" Sam nodded thoughtfully and patted the ground where he had buried his father's military tags. "Thanks."

Sam heaved himself up and made the short trek back to the Impala for the ride home.

He'd always have a complicated history with his father. They fought like two alpha wolves born into the same pack, but there was still a lot of love there. But it was no contest. If anyone ever asked him who he'd choose to save between his father and his brother, he'd choose Dean every single time.

* * *

 **A/N:** So there's that. I hope you guys enjoyed. Please drop me a line to tell me what you thought. Like I said, I had a long day, and I've got another one tomorrow. I could really use your positivity right now. Love you guys. See you Friday.


	27. Big Brother's Intuition

**A/N:** Hi everybody! I am so, so, so sorry that I forgot to post this last night! Things kind of got away from me! I hope you'll all forgive me! And I hope you all had a good week. I'd like to start by thanking every single person who offered me well wishes on my week. It really means a lot to know that I have your support. The past couple of days have been a bit better, and you all helped that happen. Thanks to zekeschance, DearHart, Bjester74, lenail125, hectatess, Sallyannerenee, waitingforAslan, spnfanforlife, and celinenaville for the awesome reviews. Like I said, I really appreciate it.

So this chapter is tagged to episode 2x05, _Simon Said_. I really liked Andy as a character, but I couldn't figure out how to work him into the chapter, unfortunately. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy!

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

 **Big Brother's Intuition**

" _He's psychic. Kind of like you. Well, not really like you, but see, he thinks you're a murderer, and he's afraid that he's gonna become one himself, 'cause you're all part of something that's terrible. And, I hope to hell that he's wrong, but I'm starting to get a little scared that he might be right_."

Sam stared out the window, counting every streetlight that went by as Dean drove up to Ellen's place. Dean was eerily silent beside him in the driver's seat. The words Dean had spewed out whilst under Andy's mental roofie hung between them.

Sam knew that his brother meant well. He knew that Dean would go to the ends of the Earth to protect him, even from himself, but the words were still there, despite Dean calling a do-over.

"Dean?" Sam kept his eyes focused on the passing streetlights, not daring to look over at his brother in case it caused him to lose his nerve. Dean grunted. "Those things you said to Andy—"

"I already told you, man, that wasn't me. It was like being possessed or somethin'! I had no control!"

"I talked to Andy, Dean. He can't make people say things they don't believe, especially when the command is 'Tell the truth'. When he makes you tell the truth, you are forced to tell him what you believe is true," Sam replied softly.

Dean sighed sadly, and Sam took the chance to look over at his big brother. His face was stoic for once, and his eyes were sad. Dean often accused Sam of turning on the puppy dog eyes whenever he wanted something, but he clearly had no clue as to who he learned that trick from. Just like everything else he'd learned in his life, he'd studied and emulated Dean. Whenever John felt that Dean had disappointed him, Dean would get this look in his eyes that tore Sam up from the inside out. The first time he had failed to hand in an assignment for school, he'd automatically channeled that look and had his teacher eating out of his hand within seconds.

It wasn't often that Dean let his emotions show on his face like that, but he always looked so much younger than his 27 years when he did. With all the stress over Dad's death and Sam's visions, and the Demon still being at large, Sam had forced himself to stomach seeing that look on Dean's face more and more often.

"Dean, I don't blame you for being freaked out—"

"I am NOT freaked out!" Dean hollered, smacking his hand down hard on the steering wheel. He pointed one finger at Sam while he drove. "You sure as Hell aren't scaring me, just like you sure as Hell aren't going dark side on me."

"But how do you _know_?" Sam asked desperately, wishing he had his brother's confidence.

"Because it's _you_ , Sam! These visions are a part of you, and you couldn't scare me if you tried."

"But Dean, if these visions are coming from the Demon, then they are evil! Sure, they're helping us get a jump on cases, but still! This thing killed Mom, it killed Jess, it took Dad away! And we don't know why I'm getting them!"

Sam's chest heaved, happy to have all that out in the open but scared to hear what Dean would have to say. After seeing Max Miller go vengeful, now Ansen Weems being a full blown psychopath, Sam felt like he was fighting some sort of predestination.

"Sam," Dean sighed, as though he was finally coming to terms with having to have this particular conversation. "Maybe the visions freak me out a little, but not because of you or because I think you're going to go full Vader on me. What you can do, where they come from, yeah, it's a little scary. But you've always had insane instincts when it comes to hunting, and just plain people in general. You knew something bad was gonna happen right before Randy Hartfield sucker-punched me back in the eleventh grade. You've stopped Dad and me from going after innocent people because you knew they weren't guilty."

"But Dean," Sam interrupted gently. "Those were just guesses. Gut feelings. These are actual, legitimate, demon-caused visions. That must mean—"

"No," Dean reached over and patted him on the chest. "No, Sam, that doesn't make you evil. Besides, look what you've done with the visions! You saved Max Miller's step-mom. You saved Jenny and her family from the poltergeist. You and Andy just saved both me and Tracy from his creepy twin." Dean smiled. "It's like a great man once said, _'With great power comes great responsibility.'_ " Sam laughed under his breath, a small smile breaking out across his morose face. "Come on, dude. These powers or whatever may be creepy as hell, but you're not doing anything evil with them. You're not killing anybody! Hell, you wouldn't even let me go to Vegas to win some legitimate cash using your little mind hoodoo trick!"

The tension that had dissolved with Dean's surety, as it so often did, slowly crept back in the silence. Sam didn't _want_ these powers! He'd never asked for them! He just wanted to get the Demon and retreat to safety with his big brother by his side.

"Listen Sammy," Dean rubbed his hand over his face, looking so much like Dad at that moment that Sam felt his loss even more than usual. "You're not going to turn into them. You've always been my freaky kid brother, and nothin' is ever gonna change that, alright?"

"But how do you know?"

"You may have that big Stanford educated brain of yours and these visions of the future, but I've got big brother's intuition. I know you, Sam. You're not gonna let anything happen to you, and I'm not gonna let anything happen to you, so just drop the subject, okay Geek Boy?"

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

* * *

 **A/N:** There you go. Hope you all enjoyed! Please drop me a review to let me know what you thought. They really make me feel better on bad days. Hope you all have a good weekend! See you Tuesday!


	28. Sammy's Obsession with Serial Killers

**A/N:** Hi everyone! Welcome back! So, I'm gonna be honest. This one is a little weird, at least to me. I had such a difficult time coming up with something brotherly to write about for this episode, 2x06, _No Exit_. It really is about Sam and Dean's relationship to Jo and Ellen, whom I love, but they're not who I want to write about, at least right now. The one thing that did catch my attention was Sam's encyclopedic knowledge of H.H. Holmes, which came off as a little odd to me. I mean, for a guy who wanted to be normal, how does he know so much about that psychopath? This is my answer to my own question. I hope you like.

Special thanks to SB, waitingforAslan, zekeschance, NightReader22, spnfanforlife, lenail125, Bjester74, and hectatess for the awesome reviews. They really kick my butt to keep writing. Now, on with the show!

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

 **Sammy's Obsession with Serial Killers**

"Dean…"

"But Sam!"

"Dean, I told you!"

"Oh, come on!"

"Dean!"

"Oh jeez, get your panties out of a knot, Samantha!"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Dean, I told you. I have to finish this term paper for my AP Psychology class. I don't have the time to 'hang out' with you right now."

Dean scoffed and propped his feet up on the chair beside him, placing his beer down on the kitchen table.

They'd been in Black Eagle, Montana for just over three months. Dad had started off working a solo werewolf case, which had turned into a pack, which had led him to a haunting, which had led him to a coven of witches. Martin had been in the area, so the two of them had teamed up to tackle the ever-changing case. That left Sam to enjoy being in the same place for an entire term, and Dean bored out of his skull. He'd picked up a job as a mechanic at one of the auto shops in town to keep him busy, and keep him and Sam in the green while Dad was away.

Things were still a little rocky for the brothers after Sam's little escape to Flagstaff, but Dean was trying to get better at letting Sam out of his sight for more than just school hours, and Sam was trying to be more understanding of Dean's constant position between the two warring parties of the family. Still, Sam knew that he would be leaving come August, come Hell or high water. He'd sent out his applications; he'd applied for scholarships; he'd gone for interviews in lieu of going on class trips. He knew both Dad and Dean would take it hard, but he also knew that he needed out more than he needed his brother. Dean had become a crutch to him, and he needed to know that he could stand on his own two feet. That did not, however, mean that he was going to toss the crutch completely. He'd try to find a balance, hopefully one that would bring Dean around to whatever campus he ended up at so that Dean could see that school wasn't all bad and perhaps even join him in the world of academia. Dean was smart, one of the smartest people Sam knew, but…

"Dude, come on! I'm bored!"

But his attention span wasn't so great.

"Dean, I told you! I have to get this done! My teacher wants a 10-page essay on the psychology of a serial killer by Monday, and I've barely started!"

"Well, whose fault is that, baby brother? Sounds like somebody should have been spending more time at the library," Dean teased.

"It's your fault, you jerk! I've been trying to research for this all week, but you keep making me come home right after school!"

"Yeah, yeah, blame me!" Sam bit back a growl as his brother spun his chair around to be next to the small writing desk in the motel room. "So, what serial killer did you pick to dissect?"

Sam looked up in surprise. "H.H. Holmes," he replied, kind of shocked that Dean was actually taking interest in his school work. Maybe getting Dean to enroll in college wasn't as much of a pipedream as he'd originally thought.

"Oh man, he was one sick puppy!" Dean exclaimed before pulling one of Sam's massive library books closer to him. "Did you know that he actually created a murder house in Chicago? He filled it with gas chambers and stuff to torture his victims with!"

"You know about H.H. Holmes?" Sam asked, flabbergasted. He'd never seen Dean take this much interest in something that wasn't female or made of chrome.

Dean scoffed. "I may not be the brains of the family, but I know twisted psychopaths. If we were around back then, we definitely would have hunted down that monster before the death toll got as high as it did."

"He was just a human, Dean. Nothing we would hunt," Sam mumbled as he pulled a different book closer to him.

Dean shot him a look. "Exactly, Sammy. We're supposed to protect people from every bad SOB out there. Sometimes humans are the worst there are. You don't see werewolves trying to shoot each other, or ghosts having gang wars. Humans, man. Humans…"

Dean trailed off, becoming engrossed in the large tome he had snagged from Sam's desk.

About half an hour later, Sam huffed and slammed his book closed, dropping his head down to rest on its hard cover.

"This is impossible," he muttered. "There's not enough information here to write ten pages on this guy, especially not from a psychological standpoint."

"Seriously, dude? You're just gonna give up?" Dean barely looked up from the book he was currently scouring.

Sam chuckled darkly under his breath. "Probably make Dad happy…"

Dean shot him a dark look before flipping the page and continuing to read. "Ha! Here, little bro! There's not enough info on this prick? Use that to your advantage." Dean cleared his throat before reading aloud. "'It is possible, according to some sources, that H.H. Holmes may actually have been the notorious Whitechapel killer, Jack the Ripper. Though there are many claims to the contrary, including a vast difference in both motive and opportunity, the prevailing theory is that Herman Webster Mudgett, alias H.H. Holmes, was, or at the very least knew the identity of, Jack the Ripper.'" Dean looked up at him and smiled. "There's a hell of a lot more written on Jack the Ripper than H.H. Holmes, so you could use him as a starting point and jump off from there."

Sam looked up at him in amazement. "Dude!"

Dean shrunk back a little in his chair, showing that self-conscious side of his that only seemed to come out when he was trying to be something other than a hunter. "What? If you don't like it, keep burying your head in books and quit your whining."

"Dean, man, that was amazing! That's an awesome idea! We've still got that book that Uncle Bobby lent us about Jack the Ripper, right?" Dean nodded slowly and Sam scrambled over to the duffle full of books near the bathroom. "Thanks Dean! Gosh, this paper is gonna be so epic!"

Dean chuckled as he watched his eggheaded baby brother chatter on about whatever he was chattering on about, clearly excited by some figment of a paper in his mind.

It was as though looking at Sam through a telescope. He seemed so tangible, so close that he could touch him, but already so far away. Dean was happy that he had been able to help, but he couldn't help but feel as though he had just given Sam the wings to learn how to fly, and that the kid was already ten steps towards taking off and never looking back.

* * *

 **A/N:** And so, of course Sam knows all about H.H Holmes because his beloved big brother helped him learn about him. BTW, I have NO idea what is taught in AP Psychology (I'm a Canadian, we don't have AP classes _and_ I never took psych), and I don't know how much is written in a scholastic manner about Holmes. But, I can say that the theory that H.H. Holmes may have been, or known who was, Jack the Ripper is true. I learned that on my trip to London, where we took a Jack the Ripper tour at night in Whitechapel. It's not particularly a theory I subscribe to; I'm more in the camp of ol' Jack being the last 'confirmed' victim's boyfriend, Joe Barnett.

Anyway, that's enough gruesomeness for one night. Drop me a review to let me know what you thought, and lots of love! See you Friday!


	29. Never Again

**A/N:** TGIF everybody! Been another hectic week, so I'm happy to be here with probably the most supportive fandom out there. You guys are awesome! Thanks to waitingforAslan, Magi Madpie, lenail125, Xeraphina Laurentia, hectatess, celinenaville, spnfanforlife, and Sallyannerenee for the awesome reviews. They really mean a lot.

So this chapter is a tag of episode 2x07, _The Usual Suspects_. Really, really loved this episode, especially the Linda Blair cameo. I actually really like this chapter, even though parts of it rub me the wrong way, but that is more my issue than the chapter's. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy!

* * *

 **Never Again**

" _Sam, you seem like a good kid. It's not your fault Dean's your brother. We can't pick our family_."

Sam stared incredulously at the detective in front of him. She wanted him to turn against his own brother? Her statement sounded so ludicrous that it made him want to laugh, but he swallowed it. After all, it hadn't been so long ago that he had tried to deny Dean's existence in his life.

" _Sorry about that, baby. My mom just wanted to make sure we were both coming to Thanksgiving this year. Though, if I'm being honest, she was more interested in finding out if you were coming than me. I mean, I'm her daughter but I swear she loves you more than she loves me!" Jessica chattered as she came back into their living room from their bedroom. That was a word that Sam loved: their. He'd never had anything to call his own: all his clothes had been hand-me-downs, all the places he'd lived had been rentals on some level or another, even school supplies had been lent or borrowed. But he finally had everything he'd ever wanted. He had a beautiful woman, a nice apartment, and furniture to decorate it._

" _Don't worry about it, Jess. You know I love your Mom. Did you tell her that I'll be there?" Sam responded, looking up from his computer to give her his undivided attention._

 _Jess sighed as she flopped down on the couch and spread her legs out. "I told her I would talk to you about it. I said I didn't know if you wanted to spend it with your family or not."_

 _Sam sighed as he spun to face her. "Jess, you know I don't get along with my family."_

" _No, I know that you don't get along with your_ Dad _," she replied huffily, sitting up and crossing her legs. "That's what you told me when I asked you about your family when we first started dating. Don't lawyer me, Sam Winchester, I know that you're hiding something from me."_

 _Sam ran his hand through his hair. "I don't want to talk about my family, Jessica. You know that it's a painful subject, so why do you keep trying to make me talk about it?"_

" _Because I know you, Sam! The first week of November you don't answer your phone, and you hate celebrating my birthday!" Sam tried to interrupt but she smiled at him gently. "I know you do your best, baby. I know how much you love me, and you always give me a wonderful gift and take me out for dinner. But I can't help but feel like your attention is always half on me, half on something else. Then on your birthday, you always get a card and some sort of funny gift which you always consider throwing out but always end up keeping." Sam looked down at his knees, causing Jess to stand up and slide over to him, sitting in his lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck and stared into his eyes. "If your dad is as big a jerk as you say, he wouldn't be bringing you gifts. Is there another member of your family that you haven't told me about?"_

 _Sam sighed, bringing a hand up to rub his forehead. It wasn't like he had deliberately withheld the information from her, or purposely tried to erase Dean's existence from his life. It was just so painful to think about his big brother and the way they had left things. It was weird not waking up to Dean's off-key singing in the shower, or him throwing his duffel at his head to get him up for school. His second day of living in the dorms, he'd yelled "Dean, shut up!" before realizing that it was Luis making all the noise._

 _It was just…easier pretending Dean wasn't a part of his life. Sure, it was like trying to exist with only one arm, but he had to do it. He was 20 years old, he shouldn't be depending on his big brother like some whiny 12-year-old._

" _I've…I've got a brother too." Jessica tensed in his lap, so Sam rushed to continue. "I really hurt him when I left, I think. He'd already given up a lot to join the family business, so I think he kind of expected me to do the same… He calls me sometimes… I don't pick up."_

" _Why not? Sam, he's your brother. He must love you."_

" _He does; I know he does but he's got his own way of showing it." Sam chuckled tearfully. "My family's kind of messed up. When my Dad kicked me out when I got into school, Dean was left in the crossfire. I knew he didn't want me to go, but he'd never try to keep me from doing something I wanted to do."_

" _So why don't you talk to him?" Jessica knew that if her family ever cut her off, she'd do whatever it took to keep in touch with her brother, even with the alienation between them._

 _Sam shrugged. "I don't know, Jess. I know I can never go home. I guess it's just easier to cut him off. It hurts less."_

" _And November?" she asked quietly._

" _My mom died in November. My Dad usually drinks the day away, and Dean…Dean does whatever it takes to feel human again. He usually calls on the anniversary of her death, and nine times out of ten he's drunk. I just…I just can't deal with him when he's like that."_

" _I'm so sorry, baby. If you don't want to talk about it…"_

 _Sam shook his head. "You deserve to know. I love Dean, and I guess I love my Dad too. But I made a choice when I left. I've got to be me, not John Winchester's son or Dean's kid brother."_

 _Jess nodded understandingly and tried to stand up, but Sam held her fast. "Is there something else?" she asked, half teasingly, half seriously._

" _Your birthday. Dean's born the same day, just a few years earlier. Last year, when we had just started dating and you had that big party at the bar—"_

" _You weren't there," she interrupted, confused._

" _I know. I wanted to be there but it just didn't feel right. I know I should have called him or gone to see him, but…"_

" _It's okay, Sam. I understand."_

 _Sam smiled and kissed her gently. "I don't know why I was afraid that you wouldn't. What would I do without you?"_

 _Jess smiled and returned his kiss. "Crash and burn, baby."_

Sam hated the way he had treated his brother during those four years. Dad was the one to burn the bridges, but Sam didn't issue any rebuilding permits, so the fracture with Dean was just as much his fault as John's. He'd never put himself or Dean through something like that ever again.

"You want me to turn against my own brother?" he asked, pretending to be shocked. Maybe other guys would turn against their brother to save their own ass, and maybe once upon a time he'd been one of those guys. But not anymore. And never again.

* * *

 **A/N:** Yay! Jessica cameo! She really wanted in on that one. Her ghost was haunting me. Um, just a small note on chronology. I imagine the flashback fitting somewhere in between Sam cutting Dean off at the hospital in Seattle and Sam telling her not to call him Sammy. I should probably write down what years these events happen, but who's got the time?

Please review! And everybody have an awesome weekend!


	30. Guessing Games

**A/N:** Howdy gang! How's it going? I'm exhausted. Another rough week, boys and girls. Ah well, I'm here now and that's all that matters. Anyway, thanks to Xeraphina Laurentia, C1, Tomb Raider and Walking Dead, Bjester74, lenail125, waitingforAslan, zekeschance, NightReader22, Sallyannerenee, and spnfanforelife for the awesome reviews.

So, this one is tagged to episode 2x08, _Crossroad Blues_. Love this episode. Watching it back, I imagined this conversation. It was supposed to be funny, originally. Then Sam got all mopey, and Dean got all protective, and this is what came out of it all. Hope you enjoy!

 **Disclaimer:** All recognizable characters, situations, and dialogue do not belong to me.

* * *

 **Guessing Games**

"Musical talent, artistic ability, and a couple of promotions. Seriously, what is wrong with people?"

Dean slammed the door to their motel room shut at the end of his statement. Sam turned around to face him as he dropped their greasy bag of food on the rickety table.

"I guess it all depends on what people think will make them happy. Ten years of something that makes them happy has to be worth it in their eyes," Sam shrugged.

"That's crap, dude! I mean, yeah, Robert Johnson got famous, but he only got ten years before getting torn to shreds. And these other blockheads didn't even get fame and fortune! I'm telling ya, man, monsters I get. Humans…"

Sam chuckled as they sat down at the table. "So you're telling me that you wouldn't sell your soul to become a world renowned rock star? Travel with the Stones?"

Dean scoffed as he opened up his burger and took a huge bite. "Stones are getting old, dude. Let me remember them as they were."

Sam winced at his brother's disgusting eating habits, but knew better than to comment.

"Alright, then what about a night with the Double Mint twins? You can't tell me that you wouldn't sell your soul for a threesome."

Dean laughed. "Do you really think so little of me, Sammy? How am I supposed to enjoy myself when I know that one night will have to be worth the rest of my life? Performance issues, little brother."

"Gross, dude. But seriously? You can't think of _anything_ you'd trade your soul for?"

Dean shrugged, digging into his fries. "Not really. Why? What can your big brain think of that is worth an eternity in Hell?" Dean paused with a fry halfway to his mouth when Sam sighed. "Damn it, sorry Sam. I—I wasn't thinking."

"No, it's okay Dean. You're right. There should be nothing that's worth an eternity in Hell, but I can't help but think of Dad and Mom and…and Jess. 10 years of having my family back…I could probably go to Hell happy if I could just see the five of us around a dinner table. Not talking about hunting, or demons, or revenge. Just you, me and Jess, Mom and Dad, having a happy, normal conversation after eating a home-cooked meal. That…that would be enough for me, I think."

The silence hung heavily over them as the food went ignored.

"Sam…"

"Don't worry, man, I would never actually do it. I'm sure if I did, you and Mom and Dad and Jess would have my ass."

"Damn right!" Dean took a loud slurp of his soda.

"But seriously, Dean. What would be worth you giving up your soul?"

"I'm tellin' ya, Sammy. There's nothin'."

"Being able to eat whatever you want and not caring about having a cardiac arrest?"

"Already do that, kiddo."

"The coolest car on the planet?"

"Already got that too, Sammy. And how dare you insult my girl like that!"

Sam ducked a fry and continued his barrage of suggestions.

"Free gas for life? It's a gift for both you and your baby."

"Wouldn't be a lifetime. It would only be for ten years."

"Your own private strip show with over a thousand strippers?"

"Ha! No."

"An endless supply of pie?"

"What kind of pie?"

"All different kinds."

"Hmm…nah."

"Why not?"

"Pie has to be savored. If I eat it too often, it won't be special anymore."

"You already eat it almost every day!"

"What's your point?"

"It already isn't special, by that logic!"

"I like when I have to work for it!"

"But _I_ always go and get the pie!"

"No, _you_ always _forget_ the pie. That's why it's so good when you actually remember it, or when I go out and get it myself."

"You're impossible."

"Haha, damn right I am."

"It wasn't a compliment…Honestly though, Dean? There's nothing you can think of that you'd trade your soul for? Nothing at all?"

Dean considered his brother for a second. An answer briefly came into his mind, but he could never admit it to Sam. Sam would argue against the hypothetical answer until he was blue in the face, saying that it was selfish and wrong and a half-dozen other things that would make Dean a bad person if he were ever to do it.

"No, Sam. I honestly cannot think of a single thing that I would trade my soul for. Nothing is that important to me."

All lies, of course, but Sam would never need to know. Dean was honestly surprised that Sam hadn't thrown his own name into the mix just to try and throw him off, but Dean was glad he didn't. It would have led to arguments and mushy, chick-flick moments that would leave Dean wanting to bathe in motor oil to regain whatever manliness he lost while he let his baby brother talk about his emotions. But as long as Dean had his way, Sam would never need to know that the only thing his big brother would sell his soul for is him.

* * *

 **A/N:** Well, I hope the humor shined through! And I hope the ending had the emotional punch I hope it did. Please review! See you guys next week!


	31. Rage

**A/N:** Hey y'all. Happy Friday, and welcome to the weekend. Thank you so much to lenail125, zekeschance, waitingforAslan, Xeraphina Laurentia, NightReader22, Magi Madpie, hectatess, spnfanforlife, and Sallyannerenee for the awesome reviews! That last chapter was one of my favourites, so I'm glad you guys enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

So this one is tagged to 2x09, _Croatoan_. This episode killed me upon my original viewing of it, and continues to kill me every time I watch it. That scene between the brothers, where Dean refuses to leave Sam to die alone, is so poignant and telling. Rather than go with my instinct and go with Dean's point of view, I decided to go with Sam. This goes into Sam's psyche a bit. I made a decision that may piss some people off, and I'm not even quite sure how in character it is, but I felt like it fits with the Sam of these first two seasons. I hope you all enjoy!

 **Disclaimer** : Anything that is recognizable does not belong to me. _Supernatural_ belongs to Eric Kripke and the CW. "Do not go gentle into that good night" belongs to Dylan Thomas.

* * *

 **Rage**

" _Rage, rage against the dying of the light_."

When Sam had first heard that poem in AP English, he'd shaken his head. When you were dying, what was there to rage against? His mother sure as Hell hadn't raged against her death, or else she would have been alive and he wouldn't be trapped in this garbage lifestyle with a father who didn't care and a brother forced to be an adult at the age of four.

He'd understood being afraid of death. The things his family hunted were horrifying, and would probably cause heart failure before they actually killed you. Dean was afraid of death. Sam could see it in his brother's eyes every time he mentioned their mother, and every single time he was hurt on a hunt. It was only when he was bleeding out and Dad had that look on his face that clearly spoke of his unsureness of Dean's survival that Sam could see the naked fear in his brother's eyes. But somehow, Dean always came back. Again, Sam wouldn't call that 'rage'. Fear, sure. Love for his brother and his father, of course. But not rage.

Sam understood the multiple meanings of the word, but he also knew that no poet ever chose a word just because. Rage meant not only to get angry, but also to fight as hard as possible against your adversary. To a Winchester, they meant one and the same thing. He and Dean and Dad fought and fought and fought, and when they didn't win they got angry and tried again.

Sam Winchester was a fighter. He raged against the controlling presence of his father, and everything in his life that was pointing towards being a professional hunter. He challenged the belief that a kid with a transient lifestyle couldn't do well in school, and he'd won. He fought against his brother so that he could try to live the life he wanted, and even though it had broken something inside of him to do so, he'd walked away from that battle physically unscathed but carrying the heavy knowledge that his opponent had been defeated.

But Sam Winchester also felt that death was not something to be fought against. He'd seen the painful consequences of fighting against something that everybody would succumb to eventually. His friend Matthew had been diagnosed with Hodgkin's lymphoma at the end of their first year at Stanford, and Sam had been forced to watch his friend suffer and fight and lose the battle of his life. He'd volunteered at a veteran's hospital when he and Jess had first started dating to try to impress her, and he'd had to sit and watch as these once fierce fighters lost their battles against their minds or their hearts or their livers, or any other body part that could kill them. After watching so many around them lose their lives in an unwinnable battle against invisible forces, he'd put a Do Not Resuscitate order on his medical forms. He did not want to be one of those people fighting for their lives, having hope that there was light at the end of the tunnel, when he had seen that light shut off in so many people. He silenced the whispered voices that spoke of what such an order would do to Dean and to Jess. Dean would be fine. He'd lived without his brother for two years with barely a word, then another year or so after Sam had told him that he was well and truly done, so surely he was still hurt and so pissed at Sam that he wouldn't mind. And Jess was young and smart and so, so beautiful that she would be able to move on with her life. Sam wanted a death with dignity. Not bleeding out because some monster had finally gotten the drop on him, having to listen to his brother's tearful pleas to stay with him. Not hooked up to a dozen machines, having to hear the doctors and Jessica talk about different treatments and all the hope he should have.

He never thought his death would come from some old world demonic virus that was as much myth as it was fact. And he never thought that his big brother would be stupid enough to try and join him in the afterlife.

He felt the tears well uncontrollably up in his eyes as Dean tossed his keys to Mark and told him to take the others and get out. Dean had done a lot of stupid stuff in the past. Sometimes, Sam was amazed that his brother was even still alive at this point. Happy, but amazed. And now his stupid, over-protective brother had to pull something like this. It was pure suicide that would be doled out at the hands of the little brother he had cared for all his life.

Sam pulled himself together for a moment to plead with his brother to go, leave, get out, live.

Dean smiled a small, sad, rueful grin. "You're not getting rid of me that easy."

Sam watched as Mark, Duane, and Dr. Lee filed out the door one by one until Dean was closing it behind the good doctor and flipping the lock closed casually.

"Wish we had a deck of cards or a foosball table or something," Dean chuckled as he paced across the floor.

Sam kept his eyes on the ground. How dare his brother put him in this position? After the disaster at the Roosevelt Asylum, Sam had sworn to himself that he would never hurt Dean like that ever again. Yet here he was, about to change into some mindless killing machine, and Dean was going to either get killed by him or get changed into the same damn thing.

"Dean, don't do this. Just get the hell out of here," Sam begged, looking up at Dean with the puppy dog look that he knew his brother hated because it always made him agree. It was one of the last cards Sam had to play, and he had to play it. He wasn't going to let Dean die, not after everything that he and Dad had done to keep him alive.

"No way."

Sam felt that rage build up inside of him as he considered how selfish his brother was being. It was as though Dean wasn't considering the position Sam was in, knowing that in a few minutes he would kill his own brother. Then again, that was Dean's MO. He was always throwing his own self-worth aside in favor of trying to better his little brother. His own brother, who was so kind and caring and smart, called himself a dumb grunt and claimed that he wasn't smart enough to stay in school. It was the biggest load of bull Sam had ever heard.

"Give me my gun, and leave." Sam tried to sound threatening, righteous even, but he knew that his voice was quaking with fear. So much for a dignified death. Now he was going to turn into the same kind of monster they hunted and he was going to take Dean with him.

"For the last time, Sam. No." Dean shot him a look that could have been aimed at a toddler throwing a temper tantrum and Sam felt something inside of him snap.

He slammed his hands down onto the table below him and pulled all that rage that was radiating towards his brother inward. He refused to turn into one of those things if it meant that Dean would die too. He finally understood what Dylan Thomas had meant when he wrote those immortal words. He would not go gently into that good night. He would rage and scream and fight and battle like he had a Hell Hound on his tail if it meant surviving this thing, because that meant that Dean would get to live too.

Sam didn't care that he was immune, though he would later toss and turn over why the disease affected everyone but him. He wasn't foolish enough to believe that it was his internal fight that had kept him and Dean alive, nor did he think that he held on to his sanity long enough for the disease to die out naturally. At that very moment, he had raged against the dying of the light and won.

* * *

 **A/N:** Phew. Heavy stuff. I've got the rest of season 2 written, or in the process of being written, so I hope you guys enjoyed this. Please review! Have a good weekend! XOXO


	32. Threats

**A/N:** Hey gang! Hope you all had a good weekend. I want to thank Sallyannerenee, Xeraphina Laurentia, celinenaville, hectatess, spnfanforlife, waitingforAslan, Bjester74, and talknerdy2meh for making my weekend even more wonderful because of their reviews. Oh, and I'd like to thank Magi Madpie for the PM. Oh, and a very special birthday to Sasha Snape! She deserves all the love and support! Thanks for always being there to lend an ear or help me riddle out what to do next.

So, this one is tagged to 2x10, _Hunted_. Again, I love to hate Gordon Walker, and I'm really sorry that he doesn't make a physical/verbal appearance in this one. I do have something awesome planned for him in the future, as celinenaville can tell you (cuz she's read it). One of the things I love about this episode is that it's one of the first times we see Dean lose control of his anger in his attempts to protect Sam. Anyway, I hope you like it!

 **Disclaimer:** Supernatural and its characters do not belong to me. If they did, I wouldn't be job hunting right now.

* * *

 **Threats**

Historically, Dean had two threats when it came to those endangering the safety of his baby brother, three if you counted a non-verbal growl aimed at those he could only threaten if Sammy didn't know about it.

The first was " _I'll rip your friggin' lungs out!_ " It was usually aimed at those who didn't really know any better, or were younger than he was, meaning he would go to prison if he actually threatened them with legitimate bodily harm. It was a physically impossible threat, but they didn't know that and he said it like he meant it, so they always believed him.

He'd first used it with Stanley Morris, that rotten sixth grader who thought that he was allowed to beat on other kids because they were smaller or a different gender, race, religion, or just because they were plain different. Dean didn't like bullies, supernatural or otherwise, especially when they were picking on his kid.

He'd used it again in reference to Dirk MacGregor, who thought that he could get away with pushing and punching Sam because he'd had the nerve to stand up for another geek boy like himself. Dean couldn't understand why Sam didn't stand up for himself, or give this Dirk the Jerk kid a shiner of his own. Being 'normal' didn't mean getting your ass kicked every day of your life. Normal people stood up for themselves! Sure, they didn't have military training courtesy of John Winchester to help back them up, but they sure as hell didn't just stand there and take it. If they did, then Dean was going to fight to keep his brother from being normal because, in a contest between being normal and being safe, Dean would pick safety for his kid brother every day of the week.

The third time he'd used it was when Billy Burkowitz broke Sam's nose in the tenth grade. Billy and the gym coach claimed it was an accident, but the rest of the boys confessed that Billy had been picking on Sam since he got to the school. Dean had an arm against Burkowitz's throat and a hand on his chest ready to pull off the threat he had just uttered in his most menacing, monster hunting voice before he got an apology. Sam was sleeping off the injury back at the rental house and had no idea why Billy all of a sudden avoided him like the plague, but he wasn't about to complain about his sudden change in fortune.

It was a threat reserved for only the most human of adversaries. It was a threat that said " _I mean business_ " and " _Don't doubt that I'll be able to pull it off_ " all in one. Dean didn't understand humans most of the time, but he sure knew how to threaten them.

The other threat was always directed at monsters. Any evil SOB that wanted a piece of his brother got a " _You want him; you're gonna have to go through me!_ ". Dean knew that it was less the words he said and more the threatening tone of voice that he used that drew their attention away from vulnerable looking Sam. The things he hunted were predators, and he knew that any predator worth its salt would come at him when threatened. Werewolves, wendigos, rugarus, ghosts, goblins; the whole lot of them would immediately change course when they heard the dangerous sounding tone. Often times it would work. The monster would come at Dean and he would put the stupid thing down. Other times, it would keep on its course and those were the moments when Dean got hurt, because nothing was going to get to Sam when he was alive and breathing.

This, however, was a new one. Never before had a human posed such danger to Sam. Never before had _Sam_ posed such a danger to himself.

When Dean had woken up that morning, way before dawn, he felt his stomach sink to his knees. He knew immediately that Sam was gone, and he felt like bashing his head into a wall for ever being so weak as to tell Sam what their father had told him. He should have kept that knowledge buried along with everything else he'd never wanted to think about, and kept his brother by his side for as long as possible. He had called everyone he could possibly think of that might know where Sam was. It was only when he called the Roadhouse, heard Ellen's motherly concern, so similar to how he remembered his own mother, that he broke down into dry sobs, all the fear and anxiety of the past few days finally breaking him.

When he arrived in the parking lot of the Blue Rose Motel in Lafayette, Indiana, he honest to God would have gone up to the front door and throttled Sam for all the grey hairs he had caused him, if it hadn't been for the girl and the subsequent gunshots.

After that first shot, it hadn't mattered that Sam had ditched Dean, _again_. Dean would kill him for that later, because that was the point. This was his kid brother, his responsibility. Nobody was going to kill Sam except for Dean, and Dean sure as the sky was blue wasn't going to kill his baby brother because of some posthumous order from Dad.

" _You do that to my brother, I'll kill you!_ "

It was a new threat because this was a new predator. Gordon Walker was no vamp, were, ghost, or ghoul. He wasn't some type of schoolyard bully who pushed kids around because it made them feel powerful. Gordon Walker was a psychopath who seemed to believe that Sam was some sort of danger to humanity in general.

Dean would see to it that every last dumbass that took a shot at Sam would be killed, no exceptions. He should have put Gordon Walker down the second he'd seen Sam step out of that kitchen because that's what he threatened, and it was a threat that he could definitely follow through on, but he didn't because Sam told him not to and then the cops were there.

Sitting in the Impala, cruising down the road with Sam back in his rightful spot, Dean thought about all the different threats he had made in his life. He'd spent his entire life protecting Sam, and he knew he would never be able to stop. It was like Ellen said, family means protection.

He almost laughed when Sam said that he couldn't protect him from all the demonic crap going on around them. All these years of having each other's backs, and Sam still didn't get it. Dean would put down every idiot who had the gall to take a shot at Sam, and that included himself. If it came down to it, Dean would load his pistol with two bullets and use one to take out Sam before turning the next bullet on himself. But Dean wouldn't let it come to that.

"You can't run from this. And you can't protect me."

Dean fixed Sam with his most honest, threatening look.

" _I can try_."

It was one of the least threatening threats he had ever made, but it was the one he meant the most.

* * *

 **A/N:** There you go! I hope you enjoyed it! Please drop me a line to let me know what you thought! Have a great week and I'll see you all on Friday!


	33. A Little Brother's Prerogative

**A/N:** Howdy y'all! Hope everybody had an excellent week. I'd like to thank Guest, Sallyannerenee, SB, Colby's girl, Sasha Snape, zekeschance, waitingforAslan, lenail125, Xeraphina Laurentia, NightReader22, hectatess, spnfanforlife, and talknerdytomeh for the awesome reviews! They really, truly are a bright point in my day. Usually, I wake up to find three or four sitting in my inbox, which always gives me a pep in my step for the rest of the day.

Today, I got a review that moved me to tears. Unfortunately, I was unable to reply to their review (as I always do) because it was submitted by an anonymous Guest. So, to Guest: Your kind words _did_ move me to tears. You are absolutely right: the characters on any given show do become audience 'property' after a while. After 11 years, Sam and Dean Winchester belong to the fans. They are my boys. They are your boys. They are _our_ boys. I want to thank you for entrusting me with our boys. I can only hope that I will never do anything that will take your faith in me away.

So, this one is tagged to 2x11, _Playthings_. This one was a little rough for me (but not as rough as one particular future chapter). I'm not sure if you guys can tell, but I tend to favour Dean's point of view more than Sam's, just because it's easier to write as a big sister. I love writing from Sam's POV when the muse strikes me, but this was tough because I knew that it was going to focus on Sam making Dean promise to put him down, which meant hurting Dean. Anyway, I hope you enjoy. It's a little angsty, so reader beware. Drop me a line to let me know what you think!

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

 **A Little Brother's Prerogative**

When Sam Winchester came to that late November morning, he was barely able to crack his eyes open before groaning, realizing that this day was going to be a bitch.

He wished he could say that he didn't realize how much he'd had to drink the night before, but that would be a lie. The weight of Dean's confession a few days earlier was still pressing down upon him. His Dad's last words ever on Earth were to put him down. It was enough to make any grown man in possession of a healthy relationship with his dad cry, let alone a guy who'd spent his entire life at odds with his father.

Sam groaned again as he thought of what he'd asked of Dean. He'd asked his big brother, the guy who'd already lost so much, to kill him if it even looked like he had the potential of going dark side. Sam felt his stomach roil, and not just because of the copious amounts of alcohol he had consumed. It wasn't fair of him to ask; he already knew that. Hell, after he'd come down from the shock of what his father had said, his first reaction was anger. Anger at his father for not having the balls to say it to his face, but also anger at his father for making his oldest son do his dirty work for him. Again.

Sam couldn't remember the first time he realized that Dean acted more like a father than a big brother. He couldn't really see the same father who often came home with blood soaked hands changing diapers and reading bedtime stories, so he supposed that was a job relegated to Dean, who would have barely been big enough to hold him, let alone change him. Dean had mentioned in passing that he was the one to teach Sam how to read and write, with Bobby assisting when time allowed.

Maybe it was when he'd broken his arm, and Dean had driven him to the hospital on his handlebars, one hand wrapped around his torso to keep him steady while the other hand steered. Dad hadn't even been in the state that week, and had opted to leave his ten and six year old kids at a rental house alone instead of sending them to their Uncle Bobby's. Sam could distinctly remember Dean's pale face and shaky hands as he had unwillingly submitted his brother to the care of strangers. He could also remember the red mark that appeared across Dean's face when Dad had eventually returned and seen the cast.

Maybe it was watching Dean work a too-big lawnmower in a motel courtyard when he was only eleven because Dad's case was taking longer than expected and they were close to running out of money and Sam needed supplies for a school project. Sam remembered staring out the window during the commercial break of _Thundercats_ to see what his brother was doing, before returning to his show.

Or it could have been the time that Dean had caught pneumonia when he was 13, and had still bundled them both up during a cold Chicago winter to go to school, because Sam was still too young to walk by himself.

The point is, every single fever, broken bone, bully, and stressed moment he could think of, Dean had been there. Every single moment of his life, Dean had been there. Sam knew that he always came first to Dean, with hunting coming in at a far second.

He knew that it would probably kill Dean to kill him if it ever came down to it, but Sam needed somebody he could trust. He needed somebody who knew him well enough to know when he wasn't himself anymore. He wanted to be put down painlessly, and mercifully. He knew that Dean could manage that.

That was all that mattered to Sam at that very moment. He had to put himself aside and do what was best for the world. He knew that it would be hard for Dean, but he hoped that his brother would recognize that it was for the best, that Sam wanted to die as Sam, not as some sort of demonic monster that everyone seemed so convinced that he would turn into.

After they'd saved Tyler and Susan from good ol'Aunt Margret's ghost, Sam could tell that Dean was still sidestepping the promise he had made him, probably in the hopes that Sam was too drunk to remember. Part of Sam wished he had been too drunk to remember, because that would mean that this was all a horrible nightmare and that he wouldn't have to see the pain in Dean's eyes when he reminded him. But he knew he needed Dean to make good on his promise. He didn't want to end up like one of the things they hunted, especially one like Maggie. He didn't want to torment his brother.

"Feels good getting back in the saddle, doesn't it?" Dean seemed so happy, so carefree in his belief that his brother didn't remember their talk the night before that Sam was loath to bring him down. After Dad's death it was so rare to see Dean so happy, but he knew that he had to it.

"Yeah, it does. But it doesn't change what we talked about last night, Dean."

"We talked about a lot of things last night." Dean shifted anxiously in his seat.

Sam turned his eyes towards the floor. He needed to stop being selfish. This was the last selfish thing he would ever ask of Dean, and if he was lucky enough to make it to Heaven when it was all over, he would spend the rest of eternity trying to make it up to him. "You know what I mean," he murmured.

"You were wasted." Sam hated the desperation in Dean's voice. He hated himself. He hated the Yellow Eyed Demon most of all for choosing their family to destroy.

"But you weren't. And you promised." Sam knew that he had him. Dean had never broken a promise to Sam before. Those that had been made were few and far between, but always kept. Promises of pizza for dinner, or a movie on a birthday. A promise not to contact him at school anymore. All promises kept.

Sam could feel Dean's eyes on him as they pulled away from the hotel, but he kept his eyes resolutely out the window, in 'full brood mode', as Dean would probably call it.

Dean was worried, he knew that, but Sam needed the reassurance that his brother would back his play more than he needed to assuage Dean's worries. It wasn't fair, but Sam also knew that it wasn't a little brother's prerogative to be fair.

* * *

 **A/N:** Okay, there's another one under the belt! Please review! Hope everybody has a great weekend! Stay safe!


	34. Renegade

**A/N:** Happy Tuesday gang. Welcome to another installment of _In His Glow_. I want to give a shout-out to NightReader22, waitingforAslan, Sallyannerenee, Xeraphina Laurentia, Bjester74, hectatess, celinenaville, spnfanforlife, and Guest for the reviews. The kind words slay the demons, guys. Trust me.

So, this one was inspired by multiple situations, both in and out of the episode. In terms of the episode, 2x12, _Nightshifter_ , has one of my absolute, all-time favourite musical cues in any _Supernatural_ episode ever. At the end of the episode, when they started playing Renegade by Styx, I lost it. Such a cool moment. In terms of outside influences, the flashback is definitely inspired by the multiple Dads of the Supernatural world. Jensen and his growing family, Jared and his boys, Misha and his kids, Mark and his gang, Matt Cohen and his son. This version of John I definitely see as more along the lines of Matt Cohen's portrayal of John rather than Jeffrey Dean Morgan's portrayal. Nothing against JDM (because I adore him), but I see Matt's John as more of the domestic version of the character. Similarly, the Mary I personally imagine is Amy Gumenick rather than Samantha Smith. Bringing those inspirations together was no mean feat, but I hope I did the amazing real life Dad's of Supernatural proud.

 **Disclaimer:** All recognizable characters, dialogue, and situations are the property of Supernatural. The song Renegade belongs to Styx.

* * *

 **Renegade**

 _Oh, Mama, I'm in fear for my life from the long arm of the law  
Law man has put an end to my running and I'm so far from my home  
Oh, Mama I can hear you a-cryin', you're so scared and all alone  
Hangman is comin' down from the gallows and I don't have very long_

* * *

 _ **Lawrence, Kansas—January 31**_ _ **st**_ _ **, 1983**_

"No, Daddy! NO!" A four-year-old Dean squealed as his Daddy chased him into the family room where Mary was sitting on the sofa, book open on her five-month pregnant belly.

"Freeze, sucker! Put your hands up!" John countered in a playfully menacing voice. "You're under arrest!"

Dean stood up on the couch, and pointed at his father, his hands in the shape of guns. "Come n' get me, copper!" he shrieked with laughter. He began bouncing up and down on the cushion next to Mary, taunting his Daddy to get him. He screamed as Mary reached over and grabbed him, pulling him into her lap gently and smothering him with kisses. John slid into the seat next to her and followed her actions, smiling with pure bliss at such a Christmas card familial scene. Just him, his beautiful wife, his incredible son, and the prominent presence of another child. It was perfect.

"Do you surrender?" Mary murmured into Dean's ear.

"Momma! Why'd you help him?" Dean whined, squirming in her arms.

"Come on, Dean-O! You should know that every cop has a partner!" John replied, lifting Dean to sit in between them.

"They do?" Dean looked between his mother and father. When they both nodded, he frowned sadly. "Does this mean I gots ta go to jail now?"

"Hmm, I don't know. You are a dangerous criminal. What do you think, sweetheart?" John smiled at Mary over Dean's head, waggling his eyebrows at her.

"Hmmm…" Mary tapped her chin thoughtfully, trying to stifle her giggles. This was everything she had ever wanted from her life. Normal. Safety. A loving husband and two incredible children that she didn't need to worry about dying at the hands of some supernatural freak.

"Momma, no! You gots ta save me!" Dean threw his arms around her neck.

Mary smiled as she gently pulled Dean back into her lap, nestling him down next to her still-small baby bump. "Oh, Baby, I could never send you to jail! I'd miss you too much."

Dean looked up at her with his head resting against her bump. "Would you cry, Momma?"

Mary hummed as John's arm came around her shoulders. She stroked her hand through Dean's hair as John moved his hand to her tummy. "I would cry, Baby. What would I do without my number one helper? I love you."

"I love you too, Momma!" Dean smiled happily. "Don't worry, I'll never leave you!"

Mary smiled as Dean rested his head back against her belly and closed his eyes.

"Looks like another round of cops and robbers tuckered him out," she whispered.

John smiled and gently leaned over his napping son to kiss her on the temple. "Told you. It works like a charm."

"Haha," Mary deadpanned. "Don't get cocky, Mr. Winchester, or you're on midnight feeding duty for a month."

John smiled back at her and the sight of those charming dimples made her sigh. She was so glad that she had gotten out of the hunting life when she had. Being 'retired' meant that she and John and Dean and their littlest miracle were safe, and always would be.

* * *

 _ **Milwaukee, Wisconsin—Present Day**_

Dean blamed their Winchester luck. Sam blamed Ronald for screwing up the case in the first place. No matter whose fault it was, they knew one thing for certain.

"We are so screwed," Dean huffed as they retreated to the safety of the Impala, stripping off their stolen SWAT masks and dropping them to the floor.

Sam nodded. They were epically, royally screwed. Ronald was dead. The shifter had taken multiple victims. Both of their faces would be blown up on every newsstand and television set in America. They were indeed up a river without a paddle. He heaved a sigh as he rested his head against the window and promptly fell asleep, exhausted from the hunt and the worry.

Dean glanced over at his little brother to ensure that he had actually knocked out and wasn't just brooding or pretending like he usually did. Noting that Sam was basically dead to the world, Dean let his armor slip and rested his head back against the headrest. Too many victims. Too much blood on his hands. Plus, now Sam's freedom was on the line alongside his own. It wasn't exactly fair, but Dean wasn't a kid anymore. He knew that cops and robbers was just a game, and that life wasn't fair. Complaining about it wouldn't change anything.

Still…Hendricks. The FBI Agent that Dean had spoken to on the phone had threatened them. He knew them, and he had assured Dean that he would have their asses on a silver platter. Dean would have to keep one eye on Sam and one eye watching their backs, making sure the dumbass who dared to threaten his baby brother didn't get within ten thousand feet of him.

Dean took another glance at Sam asleep in the passenger sleep before cranking the engine and driving out of the parking garage. Sure, this Hendricks guy probably had a partner. All cops had partners. But all 'bad guys' had one too.

* * *

 _The jig is up; the news is out  
They've finally found me  
The renegade who had it made  
Retrieved for a bounty_

 _Never more to go astray_  
 _This will be the end today_  
 _Of the wanted man_

— _Styx, "Renegade"_

* * *

 **A/N:** There's another chapter checked off. 34 down, 200+ left to go. Wish me luck in a review! See you Friday!


	35. belief, n

**A/N:** Hi guys. So I want to thank you guys for the talk about the last chapter. Not only was it one of my favourite chapters, the flashback was something I loved exploring. I cannot thank Sallyannerenee, NightReader22, Xeraphina Laurentia, hectatess, spnfanforlife, and talknerdy2meh more for the reviews.

Okay, the low-down for this chapter. It's tagged to 2x13, _Houses of the Holy_. I'm torn about this episode. I like that the writers started to explore religion in a show so heavily influenced by lore. But, I hated that Sam was so easily taken in by the supposed 'angel'. I guess it speaks a lot to his character. I guess this is me acting through Dean, trying to figure out why Sam is so dependent upon his beliefs. Anyway, this one is more Dean-centric. I hope it works. Please review!

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing belongs to me. Honestly, not a thing.

* * *

 **belief, n.**

Dean could remember a time when he had been enough for his family.

He'd been Momma's little helper, her angel, her first miracle.

He'd been Daddy's little champ, then the caregiver of the family, then Dad's little soldier. He'd been trained from a young age to be not only the perfect killer, but also the perfect caretaker, capable of providing for both John and Sam at the same time.

For Sam, he'd gone from being his big brother, to his caregiver, to his favourite person, to his best friend. To Dean, it felt like a natural progression. To Sam, it was one more strike against being normal.

Sam's leaving was the final strike against whatever faith Dean had left. After everything he'd given up, Dean had hoped that maybe, perhaps, he would be rewarded. Maybe, he'd actually get to keep something in his life. Dad was always away on business. Mom was dead. Why did everyone he loved keep leaving him? A benevolent God wouldn't have taken everything away from him, He would have rewarded him.

Pastor Jim had tried to convince him to have faith from a young age, but had little to no success.

"The Lord works in mysterious ways, Young Dean," he often said. Dean always responded with a scoff before scurrying off to find out what his baby brother had gotten into during his distraction.

Dean didn't care about mysterious ways. He didn't believe in things he couldn't see. He believed in ghosts and ghouls, and vampires and werewolves, and demons and every other evil thing out there in the dark because he could see them. He knew how to spot them and he knew how to kill them.

He believed in Sam. He believed in the strength of their brotherhood, because it was something he could see. He saw Sam fighting for him, and he knew that he was fighting for Sam. He saw the way that Sam was fighting the supposed evil within him, and Dean knew that he would do whatever it took to save his brother.

Dean believed in actions. He saw the various ways he and Sam had fought to be together. He believed in _them_. He believed in his little brother. God was just words on a page. Words that contradicted each other and gave no hard evidence that there was such a God out there who cared about his children.

Dean didn't believe in God. His mom was dead, his dad was dead, Sammy was 'supposed' to turn evil. Dean's life was falling down around him, and he knew that praying wouldn't solve anything.

Finding out that Sam prayed was like a kick in the stomach. There had been a time, a long time ago, when his words had been enough for Sam. Big Brother knew all the answers. Big Brother could solve all the problems. Now, Big Brother paled in comparison to some all-knowing being that could potentially save Sam from damnation.

"You're just one person, Dean. And I needed to think that there was something else watching too, you know? Some higher power. Some greater good. And that maybe…"

Dean hated it, but he supposed it made sense. He had never been enough for Sam, not really. Not since Sam was a baby, at least. Sam had wanted friends, and school, and sports, and theatre, and all of the other dorky extra-curricular activities that he could fit into an eight-hour school day. Dean had been easier to satisfy. Give him training, the Impala, and his brother, and he was good to go. He'd never needed anything extra; he'd never even thought to want it.

It was the same with religion. Sam needed something outside of the family and the family business; Dean didn't. Sam needed something to believe in, something that didn't come home bleeding or smelling of booze or who actually made it home, rather than just not coming home at all. Dean had enough faith in their father to believe that he was a superhero, so what could God do that his Dad couldn't? God didn't prevent any of the misery in their lives, and Dean couldn't get behind believing in a being that refused to help his father or his brother.

Still, Dean wasn't one to begrudge Sam anything. Sure, some of his decisions pissed him off royally, but he would never try to stop him from doing or believing in anything that wasn't harmful to him. Just because Dean didn't believe, it didn't mean that Sam didn't have to as well.

"Maybe what?" Dean was honestly curious. What was it about this absentee father figure that made Sam reach out and believe in Him?

"Maybe I could be saved…" Sam trailed off with a nervous chuckle. Of course. The only thing that had been banging around in baby brother's head since he stupidly shared their father's last words. When would Sam get it? Dean hadn't shared that hateful message with his brother so that he could wallow over his impending 'fate'. He had shared it so that Sam would understand when Dean began tearing the world apart to save his brother. "But, uh, you know, that just clouded my judgment, and you're right. I mean, we've gotta go with what we know, with what we can see, with what's right there in front of our own two eyes."

Dean didn't want to disagree. He still believed that God wouldn't have taken so much from so many people if He was the All Powerful Being everyone thought He was, but Sam just looked so sad that it had been the ghost of Father Gregory instead of a feather and halo angel.

So he told Sam what he thought he needed to hear. The incident with the douche in the car hadn't changed anything for him, not really. But if Sam wanted to believe that the sky was orange with green polka dots, or that a guy with rainbow suspenders hung out with him when they were away on hunts, then who was he to take that belief away from him?

"The way he died, if I hadn't seen it with my own two eyes I never would have believed it. I mean, I don't know what to call it."

"What? Dean, what did you see?" The kid just looked so hopeful, it damn near broke his heart.

"Maybe…God's will."

* * *

 **A/N:** So...there you go! Happy long weekend, and happy Labor Day to all my American and Canadian friends (not sure if anybody else celebrates Labor Day, so if it does, happy Labor Day to you too!). Please review this one guys! I need some inspiration to keep writing!


	36. Prayers of the Faithless

**A/N:** Hi guys. Umm, not much going on here for me to update you with. I'm currently writing the chapter for _Sin City_ , so that tells you how far ahead of the game I am. Oh, I met Hayley Atwell from the _Captain America_ movies and the _Agent Carter_ series, and John Barrowman from _Arrow_ and _Doctor Who_ , which was pretty awesome. Barrowman called me sweetheart and said that he loved me, so that's kept me smiling. Downside, I've been sick for the past couple of days, but I'd like to thank spnfanforlife, talknerdy2meh, hectatess, Bjester74, NightReader22, waitingforAslan, hollyhobbit101, Xeraphina Laurentia, Magi Madpie, Guest, and lenail125 for helping to make me feel better.

Okay, so this one is tagged to 2x14, _Born Under a Bad Sign_. I'm going to preface the chapter with saying that I really, really wanted to write Sam's point of view on this one, but found it almost impossible because he was possessed the whole time. I tried writing a chapter about him waking up in the hotel room and deciding to call Dean, but it wound up being too short. So this is what we've got. I hope you like it. Please review!

* * *

 **Prayers for the Faithless**

When Sam had gone missing when he was sixteen, Dean had a definite moment of panic between realizing that his kid brother wouldn't be coming back with dinner and Dad coming home from the hunt. Then he'd sucked it up, taken his punishment like a man, set out, and found his brother. It wasn't exactly a great feeling, the anxiety and the nausea swirling together in his stomach, but it had definitely subsided the second he had Sam back in his sight. He'd had to deal with that same feeling every day while Sam was in school, but he'd been able to push it down and ignore it for the most part.

When John had gone missing, Dean had dealt with it fairly well. Upon hitting the three-week mark without a call from his father, he'd stared at the ceiling for a second before leaving his evening's entertainment lying in bed beside him, dressing, climbing into the Impala, and, after a moment's hesitation, heading west to California.

Sam's presence always had a calming influence on him, or maybe it was just that he knew he had to keep his cool around his baby brother, even if baby brother wasn't a baby anymore. Being back with Sam put Dean's head back into the game when it came to finding their Dad. Hunting without Sam and Dad had been liberating, but it had also made him reckless. There had been a few times he had almost died because he didn't have anyone watching his back. Having Sammy back by his side put it all in perspective. They would find their Dad, together. Because that was all that mattered.

Now, that pit of absolute terror was clawing around in his stomach, searching for a way out. Sam was gone, again. Unlike last time, there was no reason, no note. Dean had gone into full survival mode, calling in favors from every hunter that he knew to try to find Sam. He hated it, but he felt like he had only one rock left to uncover. He gently shut the driver's door of the Impala and walked towards the severe looking wooden structure located in the valley between two hills. He paused briefly before creaking the heavy door open and entering the church.

Dean felt a chill go up his spine as he took in the high arches of the ceiling and the unyielding nature of the pews. Yeah, this was _definitely_ a place people went to get comforted. Still, the place was basically empty, so Dean counted what few blessings he had and took a seat at one of the pews about half-way from the front. He was pretty sure he was supposed to kneel or something, but screw that. There wasn't really a line he had ever drawn on what he wouldn't do for Sam, but his knees were pretty screwed up for a guy in his twenties, so there.

Dean folded his hands on top of the empty pew in front of him and eyed the crucified Jesus hanging from the rafters at the front of the church.

"You died to cure the world of all its sin. You couldn't've grabbed a couple of monsters while you were at it? Smote a few demons?" he groused, raising a hand to rub at his temples. He could feel a migraine building and it wasn't going to go away until Sam was safe in the Impala. "Alright, let's give this thing a shot. Whoever's out there eavesdropping, listen up. My kid brother's missin', and you're gonna help bring him back. Y'all have taken a lot from me, but you ain't takin' him. Alright?" Dean sighed and rested his forehead on his folded hands. "Just, get him back safe? I don't ask you for much, so please. Just bring him back."

"You seem troubled, my son." A gentle voice broke through the silence of the church. An old priest in his vestments was standing beside him.

Dean cursed in his mind, hating that this old guy had been able to sneak up on a pro hunter. "Christo," he muttered under his breath, but the priest didn't even flinch. "Uh, yeah padre. I guess you could say that. But don't worry about me. Go tend to the rest of your sheep, I'm done here."

The priest allowed himself a small chuckle. "Young man, you're the only one here. Believe me, I have more than enough time to listen to anything you may want to share with me."

Dean scoffed, much like he used to whenever Pastor Jim fed him the same line. "Yeah, you and God both I hear."

"Frustrated that your prayers aren't being answered, hm?" The priest took a seat in the pew in front of him, turning as far as he could so he could still talk to Dean and look him in the eye. Dean, to his credit, looked down at his lap, a little embarrassed of his sarcastic comment. With Pastor Jim it had been okay; they'd known each other since Dean was five. A gentle hand clasped his wrist, bringing his attention back to the priest. "You're not the first, young man. Many people become frustrated when God does not answer their prayers right away. It's human nature."

"Does God ever answer prayers?" Dean asked, desperation coating his words. Sam had already been missing for 60 hours or so, the odds of finding him alive were getting slimmer by the minute. He already felt like this prayer thing was a waste of time, time that would be better spent looking for his brother.

The priest nodded solemnly. "God helps those who help themselves. Though," a smile cracked across his face. "That's not even in the Bible. It's an old proverb that dates back to Aesop. Still, the moral of it rings true. What are you praying for, if you don't mind my asking?"

Dean hesitated before throwing caution to the wind. "My brother…He's uh, he's missing."

"Okay. Are you doing everything you can to try to find him?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah. I mean, he's been my responsibility since forever, so of course I'm turning over every rock I can find to get him back. Hel—Heck, I even came here. No offense."

"Well then, if you are doing everything in your power to try to find your brother, I am sure that God is doing everything he can to return your brother to you. Have faith, young man."

"Sure thing, padre. I'll let you get back to work. Good luck with…everything."

Dean shuffled out the door, climbed into the Impala, and gunned down the country road back to the main road, berating himself for wasting his time like that. He parked off to the side of an underpass to give all the hunters in his contacts another shot.

"Harvelle's Roadhouse. Ellen speaking."

"Ellen, it's me again. Any chance you've heard from him?"

It was a credit to Ellen's patience that she didn't just hang up on him. She and Bobby had been the first people he'd called, and the ones he'd called the most in the past few days. "No Dean, I'm sorry. It's like he dropped off the map or something. But don't worry, kiddo. I've got every hunter in this joint looking for him; we'll find him."

Dean took a shaky breath. Whatever peace he may or may not have gotten in that church was quickly wearing thin. "I swear, it's like looking for my dad all over again. I'm losing my mind here."

"I know, sweetheart, but we're all doin' everything we can to bring him back safe. What about his cellphone? Did he call to say where he was, or can you call him?"

"No, I've called him a thousand times. There's nothing but voicemail. I don't know where he went, or why. Sam's just gone." The second those words left his lips, his phone beeped. "Hang on," he told Ellen, pulling the phone away from his ear to check the caller ID. His heart stuttered when he saw Sam's name flashing across the screen. Forgetting about Ellen, he switched the call over immediately. "Sammy? Where the Hell are you? Are you okay?" He could barely make out the kid's response, but whether that was the crappy connection, Sam's rapid talking, or the fact that he could barely hear anything over the roar in his ears, that was anybody's guess. "Hey, hey, hey! Calm down! Where are you?"

"The He—Heartbreak Hotel in…in Twin Lakes, Colorado. Dean, I—"

"Alright. Don't move! I'm on my way."

Dean shut the phone, rolled his eyes at crappy pun motel names, and gunned the engine, heading towards Colorado. He thought a small prayer of thanks to whoever or whatever brought Sam back. He was nowhere closer to becoming a praying man, but he guessed that every bit helps.

* * *

 **A/N:** And in my mind, that priest was Chuck in disguise, because he really should've been helping the boys out in these early seasons. Like, where the hell was he hiding? Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I'll see you lovelies on Friday, when I finally introduce a much loved character from the SPN universe!


	37. Hurricane Winchester

**A/N:** Hi guys! Welcome back and happy Friday! Everybody survive that first week of September? My voice sure didn't. Anyway, thanks to spnfanforlife, Sallyannerenee, Magi Madpie, NightReader22, lenail125, and Xeraphina Laurentia for the reviews. They mean a lot!

Just a quick note: unfortunately, I'm going to have to go back to updating only once a week. I can't keep up with the demands of two chapters a week. Updates will go back to just being on Tuesdays, so this is the last Friday update for a while. Hopefully, I'll have enough chapters written by the new year that I can start updating twice a week again. Hope you guys are okay with that!

Okay, enough administrative stuff. This one is tagged to 2x15, _Tall Tales_. Love, love, love this episode! Not only does it introduce the The Trickster/Loki/Gabriel to the show, but it's also absolutely hysterical! As I've said before, I don't really do well with the funny. So, of course, I had to put my own spin on it. On the plus side, I finally got to write about Bobby, who I adore! Okay, that's enough jibber-jabber! On with the chapter!

 **Disclaimer** : Pas le mien.

* * *

 **Hurricane Winchester**

Thinking back, Bobby remembered it was a nice March morning. It had been calm and cool. He remembered that because it was such a contrast to the storm that was brewing inside his house.

Dean had been a bored 14-year-old who had taken to picking on his brother as a way to pass time. He'd been chasing Sam around the house, teasing him about his long hair or a girl he had a crush on or the fact that Dean had a better shooting average than him, Bobby forgot which. Dean had accidentally stepped on the G.I. Joe action figure that Sam had left lying on the floor. Joe's arm popped off, and Sam's temper went through the roof. Dean had shrugged it off and retreated to their shared room while Sam went outside to throw stones at old clunkers so that he didn't kill his older brother.

Bobby walked into the spare bedroom twice. The first time, he witnessed Dean using every ounce of his concentration to figure out how to pop the old G.I.'s arm back into place. " _I've popped Dad's shoulder back into place half a dozen times, a toy should be a piece of cake,_ " he had shrugged when Bobby asked him what he was up to.

The second time, he'd found poor Joe in three pieces on the floor, along with the remains of Dean's favourite Batman comic book, which Sam had evidently ripped into pieces and thrown in Dean's face.

The next day, Dean had been fuming when Bobby had picked them up from school. He was soaking wet, and Sam was bright red and kept clutching at his pants. Apparently, Sam had told some crazy gal at school that Dean was in love with her. It wouldn't have been a problem, except A) Dean had spent a solid month flirting with Crazy's best friend, and B) well, her nickname was Crazy. Sam's scheme resulted in Best Friend dumping her milk on Dean when she found out about the 'betrayal', and Crazy following Dean around like a lost puppy. When Crazy told her new 'boyfriend' the truth, Dean had chased Sam down to the football field and pantsed him in front of the sixth grade girl's gym class.

When they got home, Sam disappeared into the kitchen while Bobby searched for something to get rid of the smell of sour milk, which had soaked into Dean's jean jacket. Sam had entered not long after, phone in hand and a Cheshire cat grin on his face. He'd handed the phone to Dean and escaped upstairs. Bobby could still hear the raging voice of John Winchester berating his son for breaking the TV at the last motel and letting his brother take the fall. Dean's face had been stoic the entire time, even though he knew a heaping serving of corporal punishment had to be coming his way. In retrospect, Bobby should have seen the next morning coming, when Sam had screamed and come down the stairs wrapped in a towel, hair still soaking wet and a small bald spot forming on his scalp. Bobby had found the bottle of Nair in Dean's backpack, and snapped.

Dean spent three days of his Spring Break in the attic, throwing out the piles and piles of useless junk Bobby had collected over the years. Sam had spent it in the cellar, helping Bobby pack salt rounds and sort rifles into Keep, Donate, or Throw Away piles. That was the eye of the storm. Bobby could sense the tension, but could do nothing to make it dissipate. The tension rose whenever they all gathered for meals, when insults were hurled and blame was assigned. The hateful, hurtful words were almost worse than the attacks and counter-attacks that had been happening before, as Bobby could tell that the words were truly breaking his boys.

It was on the fourth day that the storm finally cleared. Dean emerged from the attic, dusty and dirty but bearing gifts. He had found his old G.I. Joe doll while moving an old crate, and brought it down to make up for the one had had originally damaged. He had placed it on the table in front of Sam and quickly scampered up the stairs again. Sam had considered it, then looked up at Bobby with a sad look on his face. When Dean had come down for dinner, he found the latest Batman comic sitting on his dinner plate. Bobby hadn't minded the five bucks Sam had bummed from him to buy it; it was worth it just to see the boys getting along again.

When school started again, some idiot eight graders thought it would be funny to try to pants Sam in the hallway. The hallway that just happened to be shared between the primary schoolers and the high schoolers on their way to lunch. Dean almost got suspended for breaking one of the kid's noses. The only reason he didn't get suspended was because the lunchtime supervisor had gotten distracted by Crazy getting milk dumped on her by Sam, who claimed it was an accident. When Crazy had tried to get her beloved boyfriend Dean to punish the "twerp" who dared to do such a thing, she had been forced to break up with him because he refused to "defend her honour". By the time the boys got home, they were too busy playing cops and robbers in the junkyard to worry about impending punishments or bald spots.

The point of all this is this: Bobby hadn't seen his boys so out of synch since Hurricane Nair. Bitching at each other about stolen wallets and missing laptops, food on the bed and bent rims. " _Idjits_ ," Bobby muttered to himself. How were these his boys? Just a few months ago, Sam had shown up at his place in tears because Dean was in the hospital being hunted by a reaper, and Sam didn't know how to save him. And just last week, Dean had been ready to burn the world to find his brother. There was definitely something going on with those two chuckleheads.

Bobby loved those boys like they were his own kids, even though they were even more stubborn than their idiot father. Those two had grown up in each other's pockets, and he had it on good authority that they had both been equally broken up about the Stanford separation. They'd had their fights, but they'd never once complained about being in close quarters, or having to spend so much time together.

Still, much like Mother Nature after a storm, after the case was wrapped up and the Trickster staked, Bobby got to witness the rebalancing of the scales.

"Here," Dean grunted, tossing Sam's billfold onto Sam's bed as he packed up his bag.

Sam looked semi-stunned to see that all of his money was still there. "What is this for?"

"It's your money, dumbass," Dean laughed.

"What happened to 'reparations for emotional trauma'?" Sam questioned, slinging his duffel over his shoulder.

"Well, you definitely have to make it up to Baby. But I hustled enough last week to buy her a new set of whe—What the hell?"

Bobby peeked around the doorjamb to see the Impala sitting in front of the motel room, glistening in all her freshly washed glory, and sporting a new set of wheels.

Sam shrugged. "I had enough left in my savings account. Besides, I use the car too. Figured I should start pulling my weight in taking care of it."

Dean shook his head slowly. "Sammy…"

"Just shut up and take it, bro."

"Fine, but you have to shut up and take this too." Dean pulled a box out of the trunk and shoved it into Sam's arms, pulling Sam's bag off his shoulder at the same time so he could plop it into the trunk.

Sam gazed down at the box that housed within it a new, top of the line laptop. "Dean, no. This…this is way too expensive. We can't afford this."

"Correction: _you_ can't afford this. And before you start bitching, I didn't use a fake credit card either. I worked a gig and got paid for it a little bit before I picked you up from school, and I still had some money left over. Since we still can't find your laptop, and we need it for research, there." Dean jerked his chin in the direction of the box. "Hope that'll work."

"Yeah, Dean. Thanks. It will. This is amazing."

"Alright, alright, enough already. Stop drooling all over it and get your ass in the car. Bobby, you comin'?"

Bobby smiled. His boys were the foremost monster hunters in the continental U.S., but they were blind when it came to seeing how much the other cared.

"Yeah, I'm comin'. Just give me a minute; my legs don't work as well as they used to."

"That's because you're gettin' old, Old Man," Dean called back, climbing into the driver's seat of his freshly waxed Impala.

"Dean!"

"What?"

"What do you mean, 'what'? You can't say that kind of crap to people!"

"It's not people; it's Bobby! He used to babysit us, for Christ's sake! Besides, he knows I'm only joshin' him, right Bobby?"

Bobby chuckled. "You better hope so, ya idjit! My trigger finger works a hell of a lot better than my knees, I'll tell you that much!"

Bobby could hear the laughter even after he'd slammed the door to his truck and shook his head ruefully. Those were his kids. Unbreakable, unbeatable, and inseparable. Forces of nature.

* * *

 **A/N:** Aww, don't you just love Bobby? I know I do. Anyway, I want to apologize for not including everyone's favourite Trickster in this one. I believe I have at least one chapter told from his perspective coming up, and I'm sure he'll wreak havoc on a few other chapters if the mood strikes him. I'm going to try to find a way to include every prominent character into at least one chapter, so if there's one you'd like to see, let me know and I'll see what I can do. Until then, auf wiedersehen!


	38. Late Night Theology

**A/N:** Hi guys! Happy Supernatural Day! Cannot believe it's been twelve years! I may not have been a part of the SPN Family for that long, but I do feel like I have gained a family since beginning this show. This one is dedicated to every single member of the SPNFam, whether they read it or not.

I hope everyone had a relaxing weekend. I did not. Super stressed at work and my life is just kicking my butt right now. I'm truly thankful to celinenaville, hollyhobbit101, DearHart, Sallyannerenee, lenail125, waitingforAslan, Xeraphina Laurentia, Colby's girl, NightReader22, hectatess, and spnfanforlife for the awesome reviews. They truly warm my heart.

So here's a little tale for you regarding this chapter, which is tagged to 2x16, _Roadkill_. I sat at my computer, staring at the screen, for hours, literally _**hours**_ , before I started writing this. I love this episode, I do. I loved the whole _Sixth Sense_ , she-was-dead-the-whole-time vibe. But in terms of brotherly affection, it didn't really give me much to go on. Thankfully, Molly's speech at the end gave me some inspiration. So I hope you like it!

 **Disclaimer** : _Supernatural_ and all of its affiliates belong to The CW, Warner Brothers, and Eric Kripke. I just like to play in The Krip's sandbox.

* * *

 **Late Night Theology**

 _The flames licked at his skin as he raced through the barren landscape. The panting of his own breath was the only sound to keep him company as he ran, ran, ran as fast as he could. No direction. No endgame. Nothing to kill. No one to save. No one he_ could _save._

 _Fire had taken the best parts of his life. His home, his mother, his dad, his brother's safety and happiness. Now it swarmed around him, attempting to consume him as well._

 _He fell to his knees as the flames advanced upon him._

" _Please!" he choked out. "Please, somebody! Sam! D—Dad! Help! Somebody!"_

 _Dean wrapped his arms around his head as the heat swirled around him, over him, through him._

 _He flinched when a soft weight landed on top of his head. He looked up and met the kind eyes of his father, standing there in the middle of the blaze with him._

" _Dad? Dad, what are you…"_

 _John pressed his finger to his lips, the universal sign to be quiet. Dean didn't understand. He hadn't seen his father in months. His father was dead. What was he doing here? Why was the fire committed to destroying their lives?_

" _Dad?" John smiled grimly at him before raising his arms and turning his face towards the sky. The flames surged forward and roiled around him, completely ignoring Dean now that they had a new target. "Dad! DAD! No, Dad! Please! Dad!"_

"Dean…Dean…Dean, wake up!"

Dean surged forward in bed, jostling Sam back from his precarious perch on the side of the double mattress. He felt like he had been doused with ice water. His hair was stuck to his forehead and the back of his neck.

"S—Sorry, Sammy," he croaked, ignoring the heaving of his bare chest and the racing of his heart. "I—I—I'm okay. You c—can go back to sleep. Sorry I woke you."

Sam sighed as he picked himself up off the floor, perching himself on the mattress beside his brother's leg. "Cut the crap, Dean."

"What?" Dean reached a hand back and roughly ruffled his hair. His hand came back wet and sticky with sweat, which he wiped on the off-white linens of the motel bed.

"I've never seen you have a nightmare like that, man. You…you scared me," Sam admitted softly.

"Yeah, sorry Sammy. But I told you. I'm fine now."

"Bull. You're shaking. And you were calling out in your sleep," Sam cast his eyes to the ground. He knew how much his brother hated showing weakness, especially around him. But when he heard his big brother start tossing and turning, then freaking _whimpering_ , then calling for him and their dad, he knew he had to do something. Dean had always woken him up when he had a nightmare, it was only fair that he do the same. "Dean…"

"Just drop it, Sam," Dean sighed as he rolled out of bed and padded softly into the bathroom, shutting the door quietly behind him.

Sam could hear the running of water and sighed. He couldn't _force_ Dean to talk to him, but sometimes he wished he could. Though Dean had never been much of a talker, he'd always known the right thing to say, especially to Sam in his time of need. Whether it was a sarcastic remark to elicit a laugh or a sincerely given compliment paired with a wince at having to delve into the shadowy realm of chick flicks, Dean could always pull Sam out of whatever funk he had worked himself into.

Light cut across the shadows of the darkened motel room as Dean opened the bathroom door, tossing a towel back into the sink. A few beads of water glistened in the dim moonlight as they stuck to Dean's stubble from where he had obviously been splashing cool water on his face.

"Dean…"

"Night Sam," was the grumbled answer he got in return, so Sam rolled over and resigned himself to not sleeping the rest of the night.

"Good night, Dean."

Despite the late hour and the inky darkness of the room, the tension did not dissipate. Both boys lay awake, Dean staring at the ceiling and Sam staring at the wall, listening to the sound of shallow breaths that echoed across the room.

"Do you really think they go somewhere better, Sammy?" Dean's voice was quiet, yet it rang clear as a bell in the silence.

Sam half rolled over so he could peer murkily over at his brother's still form. There was no evidence that Dean had spoken, and yet he had heard the words loud and clear.

Damn. The crying for Dad and the moans of pain should have tipped him off. They had both been over the circumstances of their father's death, but Sam should've guessed that it would affect Dean more heavily than it did him. On top of that, the circumstances of this particular case and the questions that Molly had asked about the afterlife were like a bullseye for the confusion that Dean must be facing.

"I hope they do. People like Molly or Father Thomas, who don't mean any harm and are just confused or scared or lonely…they don't deserve eternal damnation or nothingness. I like to think that they go someplace special, once they let go of whatever is holding them back."

Dean sat silently in the darkness for so long that Sam thought he might have fallen asleep, which gave Sam time to think. His brother was supposed to be dead. He'd watched Dean come back from the brink of death twice now, and both times at the expense of someone else. Marshall Hall, Molly, Father Thomas…Dad. They didn't deserve to be punished. They didn't deserve to be just wiped off the map, with nothing to remember them by but a tombstone or a picture. They deserved to be happy for the rest of eternity. Sam hoped that Molly was happy wherever she ended up. He prayed that Marshall Hall's soul found more acceptance in the afterlife than he ever did in life. He prayed that Father Thomas was reconciled of all sin and granted a place at his Father's right hand. He begged that his father had finally found peace, in Heaven, with his mother.

"I hope they go somewhere nice too…" Dean drawled sleepily, pulling Sam from his own thoughts.

Sam rolled over again to glance over his shoulder at his brother, who had shifted to lay on his stomach, one hand under the pillow, like usual.

Yeah, Sam hoped that the souls they put to rest went somewhere peaceful. Dean was supposed to be one of those souls, but Sam still couldn't bring himself to regret his actions in Nebraska with Roy LeGrange, or even bring himself to regret his father's deal with the Yellow Eyed Demon. Perhaps it was selfish of him, hell, he knew that it was. But in the wake of the reveal of Dad's last words, Dean was the only thing tethering Sam to normal. He needed his brother. And if that meant that Dean wasn't at peace in Heaven with Mom and Dad, well, Sam was okay with being selfish.

* * *

 **A/N:** There you have it. I hope you enjoyed it. Please review so I know! Also, remember that there will be no update this Friday, or any Friday in the foreseeable future. Hopefully 2017 will allow for double the updates again! Have a good week, a safe weekend, and I'll see you all next Tuesday!


	39. A Dissertation on Big Brothers

**A/N:** Welcome to another week! Hope everyone is having a good day. I'm embroiled in an argument with a coworker, so not really having the best time. People suck. Thanks to NightReader22, zekeschance, lenail125, waitingforAslan, Xeraphina Laurentia, hectatess, WebDragon, and spnfanforlife for proving that not _all_ people suck. Seriously though, you guys made my week.

So, this one is a tag to episode 2x17, _Heart_. Again, one of my favourite episodes. It was just so great. Sam finding love again, Dean obviously throwing that Rock, Paper, Scissors match so that Sam could stay with the girl he liked. Plus, that ending makes me cry. Poor Sam. And poor Dean. Also, this one's kinda dedicated to spnfanforlife because of all of her reviews about her big brother. I hope you enjoy, all of you.

 **Disclaimer:** _Supernatural_ doesn't belong to me. All recognizable characters, dialogue, and situations belong to Eric Kripke and Co.

* * *

 **A Dissertation on Big Brothers, with reference to Dean Henry Winchester**

As an older sibling, there is only so much you can do. From day one, you're Hell-bent on protecting your younger sibling from every little thing that you inevitably weren't protected from as a child. And that's not saying anything bad about your parents, because they did their best. The only thing is that now there are three pairs of hands to help usher in that new life. And yeah, your parents may yell at you or say in a world-weary voice that you aren't your siblings' parent, so you shouldn't be so involved, but you know something they don't. You see everything they don't. You know what exactly it is that your younger sibling needs to be protected from, because you've experienced all the things that your parents may have forgotten that you needed protection from.

At the core of his being, Dean Winchester is an older sibling, an older brother. He has proven it time and time again, but at times the depth of his devotion to his younger brother still scares him. Even at the age of four, he hated knowing that his brother was, for all intents and purposes, helpless. For a baby brother that Dean hadn't even necessarily wanted to begin with, it often unnerved Mary how in-tune her boys were, even with Sam unable to communicate with anything but cries. Maybe it was the dulling of her hunter's sense of sound, but she could swear that Dean knew the different meanings of Sam's cries even better than she did. Whenever Sam's cries changed from the usual hunger cries, Dean was by her elbow, tugging on her shirt and insisting that " _Something's wrong with Sammy!_ " Nine times out of ten it was nothing, but Dean's urgency had really shone through that one time that Sam had accidentally swallowed one of the small buttons off his teddy bear. What could have been a disastrous turn of events was thankfully avoided by Dean's quick response and an ER doctor used to parental overreaction. Mary marveled at her oldest boy, knowing that when he grew up his attachment to, and protectiveness towards, Sam would only grow.

Grow it did, but Dean never truly got over his hatred towards helplessness, especially in regards to his baby brother. Whenever even the inkling of that particular feeling came over him, he would lash out. He would get violent towards playground bullies; he would argue until he was blue in the face with his father. But there was one truth about being an older sibling that Dean Henry Winchester never accepted. In fact, he would often rebel against it.

Older siblings can protect their younger siblings from many dangers. Strangers, friends, enemies, frenemies, parents, unwanted potential suitors, bullies, wild animals, the list goes on. But they can never protect against that most painful danger: heartbreak.

"We could lock you up at night, but… you bust out, and some night you will…Someone else dies…" Dean ping ponged his gaze between Madison and Sam. Though crying, Madison looked like she was taking the news better than his brother. Sam's face remained composed, almost cool, but Dean could read the warring emotions behind his eyes like they were his favourite comic book. "I'm sorry, I am." Dean honestly couldn't be sure who he was talking to at that moment. Sure, he was sorry that Madison was dying. She honestly had no clue what had happened to her, and this whole werewolf business was no fault of her own. She was young, pretty, and had her whole life ahead of her until her seemingly innocent yet oddly obsessive neighbor took that away. But Sam…this was girl number three that he would have to walk away from, number two that would die.

"So, I guess that's all there is to it then," Madison sighed resignedly.

"Stop it! Don't talk like that!" Sam advanced upon her, an almost crazed look in his eyes.

"Sam, I—"

Dean tuned the rest of the conversation out. This…this was why he didn't pray. Life was one bucket of crap after another, especially for the Winchesters. Sam didn't deserve any of it. He felt a lump climb into his throat at the very thought of it, but, if he could have it his way, Sam would still be at Stanford with Jessica instead of tooling around with him and breaking his heart over girls like Sarah, who he'd have to leave, and girls like Madison, who ended up being consumed by the darkness that followed them around.

"Put that down…"

Dean looked over and saw Madison handing Sam his silver plated gun.

"I can't do it myself," she quietly cried. "I need you to help me."

Dean closed his eyes. This wasn't fair, any of it. Madison didn't deserve to be a werewolf, and she didn't deserve to die. Sam didn't deserve to have every shred of happiness he'd ever had taken away from him.

"Madison…no."

"Sam, I'm a monster."

"You don't have to be! We can find a way, alright? I can! I'm gonna save you!"

"You tried." Dean felt a fissure crack through his heart. "I know you tried. This is all there is left. Help me, Sam," she continued, tears clogging her throat and making the situation even more miserable than it already was. The heartache permeated every square inch of the room. It was near corporeal. It weighed on Sam's shoulders, and Dean only prayed that he was strong enough to help lift it off when the time came. "I want you to do it. I want it to be you."

Part of Dean wanted to go over, grab the gun, and shoot her between the eyes for even suggesting such a thing. Sam was not a murderer. He was the person who cried at chick flicks, for Christ's sake! Dean couldn't even take him to a freaking animal shelter because of his damn bleeding heart. Sam had been through enough, what with both Jessica's and Dad's deaths still being so fresh in his mind. If those events didn't kill Sam, this surely would.

"I can't."

"I don't want to die," she laughed mournfully. "I don't. But I can't live like this. This is the way you can save me. Please. I'm asking you to save me."

Dean opened his eyes and glanced over at the couple. _Damnit all to Hell_. Whether he knew it or not, Sam was wearing _that_ look. The look that read, " _De', I'm hurt/scared/sad. Make it go away_." Sam started shaking his head.

Dean tamped down his emotions as he stood up. He'd spent his lifetime protecting Sam. It was his job. Bullies, monsters, hell, even Dad had cowered on at least one occasion when Dean got it into his head that he knew what was in Sam's best interest. Besides, he was the screw up anyway. The dumb dropout with the GED and the go-get-'em attitude. He had more kills under his belt than even the FBI's most wanted assassin; he could do this. He'd rather have her blood on his hands than on Sam's.

He came up behind Madison and took the gun from her slowly. Sam had tears running down his face, and he heard Madison's breath stutter as he glanced over her head at his brother.

Dean watched in silence as Sam marched out of the living room into the kitchen. He glanced down at Madison, who was staring up at him with those tearful, big, brown eyes. He debated over just shooting her right then and there, taking the choice away from Sam all together. But he couldn't. Monsters he could lie to. He could look them in the eyes while stabbing them in the back. But, despite her claim, Madison was no monster.

Dean weighed the pistol in his hand as he meandered into the kitchen, coming to stand slightly behind Sam. He took in his baby brother's shaking shoulders and began mentally berating himself. He never should have let this happen. Never should have thrown that game of Rock, Paper, Scissors. Never should have let Sam get so close to a witness. Never should have let Madison get turned into a werewolf. Never should have dragged Sammy away from school.

"Sammy, I'm sorry."

Sam turned to him, and Dean felt like he was being punched in the gut by every tear currently residing in Sam's eyes. He should've been able to do something to protect Sammy from this. It was his job, and he'd failed at it because, right now, his kid was hurting. And Dean couldn't do anything to stop it.

"No, you're right…She's right."

Dean swallowed. "Sammy, I got this one. I'll do it."

One blink and the tears were streaming down Sam's face. " _What do you need me to do!? Tell me how to fix this!_ " Dean wanted to scream, but his face remained as stoic as a statue.

"She asked me to."

"You don't have to." " _You shouldn't have to. Let me do it. Let me protect you by killing her._ "

"Yes, I do. Please…" Dean reluctantly gave up the gun to Sam. "Just wait here."

Sam stood in the entryway between the living room and the kitchen, and looked back at Dean. He still wore that look, and that was more painful than any injury Dean had ever been victim of.

As soon as Sam stepped out of sight, Dean felt himself break. His brother was in pain, and he couldn't stop it. He didn't know how to heal or protect against this kind of hurt. A single tear escaped and cut a path down his cheek. He'd protected Sam all his life from every possible darkness out there, but he'd failed against the one type of pain that was incurable, irascible, and undeniable. He couldn't stop it. But God, did he wish he could.

* * *

 **A/N:** Sorry about the angst, but it's an angsty episode! There was no way around it! Please review guys. I need more proof that not everybody out there sucks. Love you all and have a good week!


	40. What Big Brothers Are For

**A/N:** Hi guys! Hope you guys have been having a good week so far. I finally got a full time job, which is great but sucks for my writing. On the plus side though, I've already got all the way up to the first episode of season 4 written, which will put us in the New Year! Yay! Yeah, I know. I'm really ahead, but I've been working part time since forever, which leaves me a lot of spare time to write. Anyway, thanks to zekeschance, Sallyannerenee, hollyhobbit101, lenail125, NightReader22, waitingforAslan, hectatess, Xeraphina Laurentia, Guest, spnfanforlife, and celinenaville for reviewing! It really makes my day when you guys review! Makes me feel warm and special inside.

In other news, this chapter was a total bitch. After all the heartbreak of _Heart_ , I thought that 2x18, _Hollywood Babylon_ , was awesome. Lighthearted and funny, with just enough emotion to make it sweet. Plus, I loved the _Gilmore Girls_ shoutout and the joke about Vancouver. But in terms of finding something brotherly to jump off of, it wasn't really working out for me. I actually jumped ahead and wrote a couple of other chapters first before circling back to this one. So I hope it panned out. I don't think it's my best, but it's definitely not my worst. So please review! I look forward to hearing what you have to say!

 **Disclaimer:** Not mine.

* * *

 **What Big Brothers Are For**

"Here," Sam slapped the newspaper down onto the diner table.

Dean looked up from his pancakes and bacon, mouth half full. "Wha'?" he uttered as best he could around a mouthful of chocolate chip pancakes.

"Case in L.A.. Guy died on a set that's rumored to be haunted. It just got published in the morning edition. We should get a move on."

Dean glanced down at the newspaper briefly. The headline of the _Santa Barbara Independent_ screamed about some crew guy getting ganked on the set of some horror movie, but Dean couldn't care less. They'd been in Santa Barbara for two friggin' days. Dean had hauled Sam's ass into the car and just sped down the 101 as quickly as Baby would let him after that last hunt, leaving San Francisco and all the heartbreak that lay there in their dust. The only time he had gotten off the freeway was to take a long detour around Palo Alto, because God only knew that Sam didn't need any of those memories at a time like this.

He had wanted to take a vacation. Take a couple of weeks to take stock of…everything. Dad's death, Dad's final words, Sam's visions, the gifted children…Madison. Sam always felt things about a thousand times deeper than Dean did or, at least, he showed his emotions with a thousand times more visibility than his brother. Dean knew the kid was hurting, and he got it. He did. He knew that Madison was probably the first girl he'd had real, deep feelings for since Jessica. There had been Sarah, but that had been different. That was a Sam that was on the rebound. But Madison, she had been a kindred spirit. Smart, confident, and beautiful with darkness hidden within her. Putting her down had really messed Sam up, and Dean had to reel in his thoughts to keep the image of Sam crying over Madison's still form out of his mind. Living through it once was enough.

Sam, on the other hand, had spent the past two days scouring every newspaper and search engine for a new case. It was the patented Dean Winchester coping method, and it left Dean wishing the kid hadn't studied him so closely while they were growing up. Dean understood wanting to bury all that grief under the mask of the hunter, but he also knew how difficult it was to keep that mask on without losing yourself to it, forgetting you were wearing it until it was too late and you came to depend on it.

"Sammy, come on, man! We just got here!" Dean complained after taking a long swig of his coffee. "Let's just call Bobby and get him to put someone on it."

"Why? There's no need, Dean. We're a couple of hours away. No need to drag another hunter out here to do something we could handle in our sleep."

"All I'm saying is that we've been burning the candle at both ends," Dean replied with his hands up. "What with trying to figure out where the demon went, and the Colt, and what to do about all the gifted children, _and_ all the extra hunts we've been doing on the side? Dude, I'm wiped. Let's take a breather."

Sam chuckled dryly, the only kind of laughter that Dean had heard from him since Madison. "Since when do you take vacations, Dean?"

Dean fixed him with a look and switched tactics. "Sammy, we haven't taken a break in months. Call Bobby, tell him to put somebody else on it. You and I are just gonna kick back here for a little. Beach, beer, bab…" He winced at his poor choice of reasons to stick around, and trailed off when he saw the faint glimpse of tears in Sam's eyes.

"Please Dean?"

Dean sighed, recognizing the signs almost immediately. Definitely the Dean Winchester Coping Method, only with the added kicker of the Sam Winchester puppy dog eyes. Dean closed his eyes and hated that he hadn't been able to keep his mask up more while growing up.

He had always tried so damn hard to keep the cracks from showing, to both Sam and Dad. Dad would see it as weakness that he couldn't keep his crap together, and Sam…well, Sam didn't need his big brother's crap resting on his shoulders.

Dean had always done whatever he could to protect Sam from the burdens both he and Dad carried around with them, and he had done a pretty damn good job of it. Sam had never felt the true sting of Mom's death, nor did he ever have to deal with Dad's drunken injuries or tirades. The only things he had failed at protecting Sam from were the two things he should've been able to prevent: Jessica's death, and Sam's attachment to Madison.

Dean didn't _want_ Sam to be like him. He may have gone out of his way to try to make it seem like he did, but he didn't. He knew the darkness inside of him, and he knew that his future would likely be a dark, dangerous, lonely trail if not for the presence of his brother. He didn't _want_ Sam to use his coping methods. They barely worked for him, lasting only for a few short weeks before everything bubbled over the top and he lashed out at the people around him. If they barely worked for him, how the hell could they work for a guy who wore his heart on his friggin' sleeve?

"Sammy, I…"

"Please Dean?" Damn puppy dog eyes.

"Fine, get your ass in the car. We're leaving in ten. I just gotta hit the can."

Sam's face broke out in a relieved smile, the first emotion other than sadness that Sam had portrayed in the past few days. Dean threw some cash down on the table, smiled sadly over at the waitress he'd been hitting on since they had gotten to Santa Barbra, and headed to the restroom.

Dean hoped he'd made the right choice. It still didn't sit right with him that Sam was so driven in this line of work, but he figured that Sam knew his emotional stability better than he did. And so what if Sam's emotions boiled over and he lashed out at the person closest to him? Dean would just have to make sure that he was that person. He could take it. Besides, what else were big brothers for?

* * *

 **A/N:** I feel like I'm landing on the same note over and over again. Let me know if you get sick of it. And please review! Love you all and have a good week. See you all back here on Tuesday!


	41. 5 Simple Rules

**A/N:** Hi guys! Hope everyone had a good week and weekend. I'm exhausted. Working two jobs is so tiring. The only day I get to sleep in is Sunday, and I have zero time to write. But that's okay for us, because I've got chapters written until at least February. Thankfully, I still have time to unwind at night, so I'll still be able to tune into the new season of SPN when it finally airs!

I want to thank waitingforAslan, celinenaville, Sallyannerenee, zekeschance, hollyhobbit101, Colby's girl, NightReader22, Xeraphina Laurentia, hectatess, lenail125, and spnfanforlife for the awesome reviews. Seeing your reviews come in really helped me power through the long week.

Okay, so this one is a little different. At least, it feels different to me. This chapter for episode 2x19, _Folsom Prison Blues_ , is told from a different perspective, but it's also told from Dean's perspective. You'll see what I mean when you get there. Without further ado, here's the new chapter!

 **Disclaimer:** Zip, zilch, nada belongs to me.

* * *

 **5 Simple Rules for Sending Dean Winchester's Brother to Prison**

"Hey Warden, this letter came for you." One of the newest guards at Green River County Detention Center walked in and laid the letter on his desk.

Deacon barely looked up from the file in front of him. "Thanks Mike." Hearing the door close, he flipped the page.

He hated that it had come to this. He hadn't heard from John Winchester in years, and it was his own damn fault. He'd gotten in touch not long after Mary had passed, and spent the afternoon watching his old friend drink himself into a stupor while his sons played in the next room. He'd started babbling about fires and his wife being pinned to the ceiling and demons and blood, and Deacon couldn't take it anymore. After all the horrors they'd faced together, seeing John crack was one of the most painful things the older marine had ever had to witness. He'd thought of sending him to the VA for a psych eval., but then the man had just up and disappeared, along with his boys. Deacon had thought about getting in touch many times over the years, but every time he decided against it. Deacon had basically called him crazy, so he was sure he wasn't going to get a warm reception. And, if John did decide to meet up with him, and he hadn't dropped the whole 'Evil Walks Among Us' tirade, Deacon didn't want to risk pissing off the only man he'd ever met with a better shooting average than he had.

When all the crap that happened after they opened up the old cellblock, what with one of his men having a heart attack and Randal claiming to have seen something, Deacon had put in a call to his old friend, thinking that maybe the ghost thing wasn't as off the mark as he'd originally thought. To hear that John was dead had rocked him. Death and John Winchester went together like an unstoppable force and an immovable object. It just didn't make sense. Considering he had passed recently, Deacon had tried to convince John's son not to come sort out his possible ghost problem, but he had definitely inherited that Winchester stubbornness.

Deacon looked down at the file in front of him and pulled out the two mugshots attached. The older one, the boy he had spoken to on the phone, had his dad's looks for sure. Handsome kid, would probably get eaten alive by some of the idiots he had in lock up. The other one, the younger one, was huge, with a dark glint in his eye. He'd have to keep an eye on them both, make sure they did their jobs and got out without causing him too much paperwork.

Deacon replaced the photos and flipped the file shut. The boys would be in with their next busload of prisoners, and he would have to be out on the floor to identify them.

"Damn it," he muttered, pulling the letter towards him. He really hoped it wouldn't take too much of his time to read it, because he had better things to do with his time. He tore the envelope open and pulled out a piece of folded up motel stationary.

" _Dear Deacon,_

 _Sorry if this gets to you a little late. Had to drop it off while Sammy was in the shower, and we're heading out to get our asses arrested later on tonight. I just wanted to go over a couple of things with you before we get there._

 _First, you've got to make sure the guards stay out of our way while we're trying to do our jobs. It sounds like you've got a ghost problem on your hands, and since not a lot of people believe in ghosts, they'll lock us up for real if we say that's what we're doing, except this time it'll be in a padded cell. We'll need salt and iron. I know that sounds impossible, but that's our best bet for getting rid of Casper. We're already going in without our usual gear, and we won't be able to watch each other's backs as well as we usually do, so you're going to have to work with us on this._

 _Second, and this is most important, you've got to follow these rules. You don't know me, and I don't know you, but you saved our dad's life, so I'm trusting you on this. You follow these rules, and everything will turn out alright:_

 _ **1\. If You Can't Assure Sam's Safety, He's Not Going**_

 _That means keeping an eye on him at all times. If my eyes aren't on him, then yours better be. If anyone lays a hand on him, if he gets food poisoning from the crap food I'm sure we're going to have to scarf down, if he gets so much as a burn from the handcuffs, I'll be coming at you to fix it._

 _ **2\. Make Sure His Roommate is on His Best Behaviour**_

 _I mean it. If I can't be his cellmate, then this guy had better be a freaking angel. I don't care what the guy is in for, how long he has, or how long he's been in. Just make sure the guy sleeping in the same room as my brother is a model inmate. If he so much as looks at my brother wrong, he's going to be less worried about how much longer he's got in lock up, and more worried about how he's going to pee standing up. You know what my dad was capable of, so you know what I'm capable of. Don't doubt that I can pull it off._

 _ **3\. We're in the Same Cell Block**_

 _Either we're across the hall from each other or we're next door to each other. If I can't keep my eyes on him, I want to be able to hear him, even if it's as low as a damn whisper. The kid's never been good with tight spaces, and if he starts freaking out, I want to be the first to know. He's not going to like this plan either, so I'd rather he pick a fight with me about it than pissing off his cellmate and getting himself into a situation that I can't get him out of._

 _ **4\. Any Trouble Sam Gets Into I Get Punished For**_

 _This is more of a warning than a rule. The kid probably won't even make a peep to anyone but me, but he's also going to tower over most of the jackasses in that prison, so somebody is inevitably going to try to start crap with him. I don't care how big the guy is, he's not going to get a piece of my brother. He's got to go through me first. So even if you see Sam in the middle of a fight, just know that I'm the one who started it, and I'm the one who's going to get punished for it._

 _ **5\. If Things Go Sideways, Get Sam Out. Don't Worry About Me.**_

 _Don't go risking your job, and don't listen to the kid. He'll fight you, and throw the biggest bitch fit you've ever seen a grown man throw, but you get him out. I don't care how, just do it._

 _If you follow those rules, and stay out of our way, we can have the job done in a couple of days. Then you get us out, and we go on our merry way._

 _Dean Winchester._ "

Deacon smiled as he folded the letter back up. That was definitely John's boy, both in looks and in personality. He'd really have to keep an eye on him, not for his own sake, but for the sake of his prisoners.

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 **A/N:** Please, please, please review! The reviews will help me get through the rest of the week! Have a good week everybody!


	42. Twins

**A/N:** Hi guys! Welcome back to another week! We're winding down the season 2 chapters with what are, in my opinion, three of the most emotional _Supernatural_ episodes ever. Since it was Canadian Thanksgiving, I'd like to give thanks to lenail125, SB, Magi Madpie, Guest, Mariamo, Sallyannerenee, NightReader22, zekeschance, celinenaville, Beth Nottingham, Colby's girl, Xeraphina Laurentia (who is the best motherhen ever!), Bjester74, hectatess, spnfanforlife, and Guest for the awesome reviews.

Okay, so, like I said. Emotional episodes lead to emotional chapters, and the last three episode of Season 2 were three of the most heart wrenching episodes ever. This one is tagged to 2x20, _What Is And What Should Never Be_. Deadly episode to watch. My heart just broke for Dean watching the episode, and I knew I had to tap into why that is. I hope this lives up to your expectations.

 **Disclaimer** : Nothing belongs to me. Italicized text comes directly from the episode. Includes one quote from _next to normal_.

* * *

 **Twins**

" _Why'd you have to keep digging?…You were happy…"_

Was he? Happy. What does happy even mean? Sam would probably come up with some dictionary definition of the term, complete with references to thousand-year-old literary quotes and experiences from their own lives, but Dean had once heard that the only people who were happy were the people who hadn't thought about it hard enough. As somebody who regularly laid tortured spirits to rest, he liked that. Most of the ghosts he had faced obviously had no idea what it was that was holding them back, so obviously they hadn't thought about their happiness hard enough while they were still alive, because something had to have been bugging them.

He's pretty sure he had been happy during that week long foray in Lisa's bed. He'd been happy for a brief second when he and Sam had gone on that road trip to Jericho, but now that memory was tainted by everything that had come after, and the thought that Jessica might still be alive if Dean hadn't allowed himself one moment of selfishness. He'd been happy when Dad had shown up, and they started acting like a family again, but again, that all came to an end with a crash, literally.

Basically, Dean didn't think he really knew what it meant to be happy. He didn't think he would recognize it if it came up to him and sucker punched him. Every happy memory was tainted by some disaster, or by the thought that his mother couldn't be there to enjoy the moment with them. All he really knew was that what he had in that dream state was not happiness…not really…

" _It's still better than anything you had…It's everything you want…We're a family again…"_

Hearing Mom say that had nearly broken him, because it was almost completely true. Almost. It was everything he'd ever wanted. Mom was alive, and so, so beautiful. Jess was alive, and that made Sam practically glow with happiness. Sam wasn't risking his neck on some potentially ill-fated quest for revenge. Dad had died peacefully in his sleep, not trading his soul to save his son. His family was safe. His family was whole, and had been for his entire life. Then, on the even more plus side, he had a hot nurse as a girlfriend and worked with cars for a living.

The dream state _was_ pretty perfect. He had everything he'd ever wanted. Except, it gave him a funny feeling inside. Like someone had scooped out all of his insides and stuffed him with straw. And it wasn't just that all the people he had saved were dead. It was like trying to live without all those vital things that helped you to breathe and live.

" _You don't have to worry about Sam anymore…You get to watch him live a full life…"_

Maybe that was it. Dean had never really believed in identity crises, but maybe that was what had him feeling so funky. He believed that you are who you are, period. You don't suddenly change. The evidence was all around him. His Dad was a fighter, had been ever since his own father had abandoned him. Sam was normal, that didn't go up in flames when Jess died, it just got put on the backburner for a little. But Dean, Dean was a hunter and a big brother. And he wasn't just any hunter. He was the youngest hunter, with the longest career to date. He had more kills under his belt than Rambo, and had saved more people than Luke Skywalker. He wasn't just any big brother either. He was the best damn big brother on the planet, and that was being humble. He sacrificed, and he worked, and he gave everything he had. He laid down on the wire so that Sam could step over it and keep going. He was a big brother down to his very soul, and the Djinn had taken that away from him. By making him normal, Dean had lost the only thing that had ever actually made him _feel_ normal. All the saving people, all the hunting things, the family business, it all meant nothing to him if he didn't have his brother by his side. If he wasn't Sam's big brother, who was he?

Sure, he would probably be able to salvage their relationship now that Sam had broken out of his Mayberry trance, but that would mean that _his_ Sam would be left alone in the craphole of a life he had left behind. The kid that he had raised would probably spend the rest of his days searching for him, only to come up empty. It would destroy him, that much was evidenced by the way he had acted after Jess and Dad's deaths. He had to get back. He had to protect his little brother from that devastation. He had to save him from the same loneliness he had dealt with when Sam was at school.

" _Why is it our job to save everyone?…Haven't we done enough?…"_

They _had_ done enough. They'd done more than their fair share of fighting to protect the world from evil. But that was the thing. In his world, the real world, it was "our" and "we" and "us". They may as well have been born as twins, seeing how they barely left each other's sides growing up. Dean was never just 'Dean'. It was 'Samn'Dean', or 'the Winchester boys', or 'John's kids'. Individuality wasn't really his strong suit.

Maybe the Djinn saw that as a bad thing. Maybe he saw the same thing that the shifter in St. Louis had seen. Perhaps, because they were monsters, they misinterpreted Dean's dependence on Sam and vice versa as a weakness; saw Sam as something that weighed him down rather than buoyed him.

Dean silently berated himself. He should've known. Their luck was so bad; he should've known that every wish come true would come with some tragic twist. Dreams didn't come true, at least, not for the Winchesters.

"I thought it was supposed to…to be this perfect fantasy."

Dean thought about that for a moment. Fantasy, yes. Having his Mom alive was one of his biggest wishes, something he had wished for before he learned that wishes don't get granted for Winchesters. But perfect?

"It wasn't."

* * *

 **A/N:** Heavy stuff, I know. But I had to get into Dean's mentality for this one. Oh, and there are a couple of layers to the title, _Twins_. One: the line about Dean and Sam basically being raised as twins. Two: Dream Sam is basically Real Sam's twin; same goes for all the other characters, except Dean. Three: I wrote this one on the day that Jensen and Danneel announced that they were having twins, and I was probably more excited for them than I have been for people around me announcing their pregnancies. So yeah. Oh, and the line "People who think they're happy just haven't thought about it enough" is from the Pulitzer Prize winning musical, _next to normal_. Amazing play about mental health and families. Happy Belated Thanksgiving to my Canadian readers, and thanks for reading! See you next week!


	43. A Genetic Code

**A/N:** Okay, so Truth Time. There are some episodes that I did not want to touch when I started this little project. Either the writing was too perfect or the premise too terrible (I'm looking at you, _Bloodlines_ ), or the boys just delivered incredibly astounding performances that I know that, as a writer, I cannot improve upon in any way, shape, or form. This, 2x22 _All Hell Breaks Loose Part 1_ , is one of those episodes. The writing is perfect. The premise amazing. Don't even get me started on Jared and Jensen's acting. And yet, I had to write a chapter. So, this is it. Please review! I need to know that I didn't totally screw this up, plus it's been rough at work so I need some encouragement from the best fandom on the planet.

Oh, quick little heads up. Couldn't really find a way to separate _AHBL_ Part 1 and Part 2, so Part 2 leaks a bit into this one at the end.

Thanks to waitingforAslan, Sallyannerenee, lenail125, hectatess, NightReader22, Xeraphina Laurentia, spnfanforlife, Bjester74, and celinenaville for the reviews!

 **Disclaimer** : Nothing belongs to me.

* * *

 **A Genetic Code**

Bobby Singer had been called many things in his lifetime. Idiot. Drunkard. Idiot Drunkard. Bastard. Fool. Obsolete. 'Old Coot' was always one of his favourites. And those were only the ones that the public called him. His friends and fellow hunters had other choice phrases they used when describing him. But one thing they would never call him was cold. He was one of the warmest people anyone could ever meet. When Caleb broke his leg, he ended up bumming around Bobby's house for a month until he could get the cast off. When Lee Chambers needed someone for his daughter's babysitter to call if he didn't come home from a job, Bobby signed up for the job willingly. When Joshua got in over his head hunting a family of rugarus, Bobby was the one to call in the cavalry. Pastor Jim Murphy knew that whenever he came across a greenhorn hunter, he could send them off to Bobby's and get them trained up properly so that he didn't have to hold a funeral in a couple of months. And when that idiot John Winchester needed someone to look after his boys, well, Bobby took the job because, even though he felt like he broke everything he touched, he knew that there was something special and unbreakable inside those two idjit boys.

He'd watched them grow from little tykes into two of the most capable and cunning hunters on the planet. They'd grown up in each other's pockets, fallen apart because of their pigheaded daddy, and come back stronger than ever. Bobby felt privileged to have been able to have a hand in raising those two boys. He'd championed their successes, fulfilled their need to feel even a bit normal, and mourned their losses. He'd quickly gone from Mr. Singer to Uncle Bobby, and he wouldn't change any of it for the world.

" _Well, maybe that isn't true_ ," Bobby thought as he slowly trudged back to the scene he had left behind. If he could, he would change the last 72 hours. He'd bring back Ash and Ellen. He'd save the Roadhouse and all the good hunters that were in it when it went up in smoke. He'd think of Cold Oak faster and break more speed limits to get there. Most of all, he'd shoot that sonofabitch before he could stab Sam in the back, and he'd make sure that he never had to hear such a painful scream come out of Dean's mouth.

Bobby had heard the echoing cry of Sam's name from a quarter mile away, and felt his heart sink and ache at the way it was dripping in loss and pain and mourning.

Bobby walked with all the pep of a funeral procession back to where his boys were lying in the mud. Dean was kneeling in the mud, Sam draped lifelessly over his shoulder. Dean had his arms wrapped tightly around his brother, squeezing and rocking him like a mother with her newborn infant. Except that this wasn't the miracle of life, but the destruction of two. A high pitched keening was leaking out of Dean's mouth, and Bobby had a hunch that Dean wasn't even aware that he was making such a heart wrenching sound, or that Bobby was even there.

"He escaped into the woods," Bobby whispered, feeling like he was intruding upon something precious.

It was the first time he ever felt like an outsider with the boys, at least since they were kids and he was still Mr. Singer. Back then, they had relied only on each other. Even John couldn't completely crack the code of how his sons communicated with one another. Every variation in tone, every word, every facial expression was carefully thought out, and had a different meaning. Depending on tone and context and facial expression, an exclamation of "De'!" could be a cry for help, a joyous realization, or a complaint. A loud outburst of "Sammy!" could be a cautionary warning, a groan of grudging adoration and/or frustration, a call to dinner, or a display of love and affection. Bobby got to witness the transition from "De'" and "Sammy" to "Bitch" and "Jerk", and then into something even deeper than the spoken word. A twitch of the head or a hand on a shoulder came to mean more than any word ever could. John Winchester never could break that code, but Bobby Singer was a patient man and a wizard of a pattern-finder. It was when he cracked this code that he became a trusted insider. They knew that they could turn to him because he understood them.

At that very moment, he wished he was blind and deaf and mute and that he had never understood that secret language between brothers. Understanding made it all too painful to witness.

"Dean…" What was he supposed to say? The usual platitudes didn't really apply in this situation. "We should get out of the rain, son."

As Dean shifted, Bobby made to go and pick up Sam's legs.

"NO! DON'T TOUCH HIM!"

Dean's scream stopped him cold. He was back to being an outsider. Right now, under the weight of Dean's unprocessed grief, he was relegated back to being Mr. Singer, and being Mr. Singer meant that he was forced to watch as Dean struggled under the weight of his younger, bigger brother.

"Dean," Bobby sighed sadly, taking off his cap and wringing it between his hands before donning it again. He knew that, as much as he loved Sam like his own son, he was only feeling a fraction of what Dean was feeling at that moment. Bobby may have watched over the boys when they were kids, but he never looked after them. He never took care of them. Dean was the most self-sufficient little kid he'd ever met, and he cared for Sam better than Bobby ever could have. This wasn't just the loss of a brother; it was the loss of an entire world. Everything Dean had ever had, he'd poured into the kid that was lying lifeless in his arms. With Sam gone, Bobby knew that Dean didn't really have anything to live for. But Bobby wasn't going to let his only remaining kid suffer alone. "Dean, let me help."

Dean shook his head like a petulant child, rising up on shaky knees with Sam's head lolled back on his shoulder and his torso in Dean's arms. "He's my responsibility, Bobby. I have to take care of him."

He sounded so much like the broken child he really was, and Bobby found himself cursing John Winchester to the depths of Hell for so thoroughly screwing up his children.

He cursed him again when Dean refused to eat or drink anything besides the forty of Jack sitting in the Impala.

He cursed him again when Dean refused to give Sam a hunter's funeral.

He cursed him again when Dean kicked him out of the cabin in Cold Oak.

And he cursed him more thoroughly than he ever had before when both of the boys pulled up in front of his place a few days later, both assuredly alive.

When Dean looked up at him with tears in his eyes, claiming that he couldn't just let Sam die, and that he had sold his soul to the lowest bidder because John Freaking Winchester allowed his eldest to believe that his little brother's life was worth more than his own, Bobby's heart broke. He had seen how John's deal to save Dean's life had affected the oldest Winchester son, and he could only imagine how much more it would affect Sam once he figured it out. Bobby hoped against all hope that Sam would not try to make a deal to save his brother's life, knowing that it was completely useless to think that Sam wouldn't try anything and everything it took to save Dean.

Maybe he hadn't cracked the code. Maybe it wasn't a verbal/nonverbal thing. Maybe it was a genetic code, ingrained upon their very DNA to look after each other, at their own expense. Bobby wasn't sure. All he knew was that his boys would always be there for each other, and it would be the death of them both.

* * *

 **A/N:** Again, heavy stuff. But, again, heavy episode. the two _AHBL_ episodes kick me in the emotions every single time. Anyway, I hope you all review! And I hope that you all have a terrific week! I'll see you on Tuesday for the final Season 2 episode. Oh! And if anyone wants to send me a PM or add on to their review what they thought of the Season 12 premiere, I am so game! I thought it was incredible! I couldn't stop shaking the whole time!


	44. Seasons of Love

**A/N:** Hi everyone and welcome to the last chapter in the second season of this thing! I can't believe we're already here! Thanks to SB (love you!), Magi Magpie, hollyhobbit101, lenail125, NightReader22, Sallyannerenee, zekeschance, Bjester74, Xeraphina Laurentia, Colby's girl, hectatess, shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod, Guest, spnfanforlife, and celinenaville for the awesome reviews.

So, this one is tagged to 2x22, _All Hell Breaks Loose, Part 2_. Again, this is sad, but I don't think it's as sad as the last chapter. Oh, and it also has spoilers for _RENT_ , for any musical fans out there.

 **Disclaimer:** _Supernatural_ belongs to Eric Kripke. _RENT_ belongs to Jonathan Larson.

* * *

 **Seasons of Love**

Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes. Isn't that how that stupid song goes?

It's not Sam's fault that he knows that song, not really. Jess loved that freaking musical. He had found her more than once curled up on their couch after a long day of classes, watching a poorly recorded tape of the Broadway production, bawling her eyes out because "I saw this bright, white light! And I swear, Angel was there! And she looked GOOD!" And because he was a good boyfriend, and his big brother wasn't there to tease the ever-loving crap out of him for it, he subjected himself to watching it with her once a year. He dealt with her off-key singing along, and her sobbing into his shoulder when Angel died. But he always ended up regretting it slightly when that one friggin' song ended up stuck in his head, playing on repeat in his mind for the week following their annual viewing of RENT.

Sam had originally scoffed at the idea of measuring a year by such trivial things as cups of coffee or laughter. For a bunch of people singing about the year they had left to live, Sam thought they were being _way_ too optimistic. He'd spent so much of his life measuring years by the amount of motel rooms he had lived out of or how many schools he'd been enrolled in, or, even worse, how many hospital visits he'd had to make. Hunt after hunt after hunt wore him out and broke him down. Jess had actually gotten pissed at him, saying that he didn't understand what they were saying. After his admittedly pompous reply of " _Why don't you explain it to me then, hm?_ ", she sat him down and did just that. None of them knew exactly how long they were going to live, so they were measuring their lives by things that made it worthwhile. Every day that they were alive, every sunset they got to witness, every stroke of midnight, every cup of coffee that they got to share with friends. Those were the things that made their lives worth it. That proved they were leaving something behind. Love. No matter how they phrased it, it was love that was making their lives worth living, despite their circumstances.

At that, Sam had admitted defeat and spent that weekend trying to make it up to her. Love was something that he understood. Despite never meeting her, his mother had obviously loved him enough to die protecting him from some _thing_ in his nursery. Dad loved him in his own way, doing his best to train him up so that he could protect himself. Being with Jess, reveling in their young love, she almost literally kept him from crashing and burning. She's what made every day at Stanford worthwhile. Dean…Dean had loved him enough to let him go, with no caveats or conditions. No "If you leave, don't ever come back". Somewhere deep inside of him, Sam knew that Dean would have sacrificed everything, including his own happiness, for Sam. As a kid, that had never really connected with him.

Now, that stupid song was back in his mind, haunting his every waking thought, and providing the soundtrack to his every nightmare.

" _One year…I got one year…_ " Even the echo of the words brought tears to Sam's eyes.

Sam was sitting alone in his childhood bedroom at Bobby's house. Actually, it was the room he shared with Dean whenever they stayed with their Uncle as kids. He could still see the dent in the floor from when he'd fallen out of bed and whacked his head against the laminate flooring, and he knew the old Dracula movie poster covered a hole from when Dean had put his fist through the drywall because Dad and Sam had gone at it on his birthday about some trivial thing that nobody could remember. Dean was…somewhere. Probably out in the junkyard fixing up some car because Bobby was still supremely pissed off at him, and he couldn't stand the look of sadness that Sam inevitably kept shooting him whenever they were in the same room.

Sam felt like he had a right to that look, however. Of all the stupid, selfish, moronic, self-sacrificing, order-following, dickish, heartbreaking, soul-clenching…Sam felt his throat clench and tears well up in his eyes as his mind began running out of insults. Dean had asked him, _begged him_ , not to be mad at him about this, but how could Sam not be? Dean saved himself from being alone by subjecting him to that very same fate, which was incoming in approximately 519327 minutes. Knowing the exact amount of time his brother had left in this world did nothing for his state of mind. He felt like there was a gigantic red timer stamped across his eyelids, counting down every minute, every second he had left with Dean.

519326.

Sam remembered vividly how Dean had reacted to the confirmation that their father had sold his soul to save Dean's life after the car accident. He had been absolutely devastated, completely broken at the knowledge that his life had come at the price of his father's. Sam too felt shattered. How was he supposed to live, knowing that his brother had died to save him? Not only died, but subjected himself to all the tortures of Hell? How was he supposed to cope with being the last Winchester standing? He wouldn't have anyone to laugh with, or drink coffee with, or even spend his days with if Dean went to Hell. The only thing that would make his life worth living was knowing that his death would mean that Dean's death was in vain, but how in the actual Hell was Sam supposed to live with that crippling burden resting on his grieving shoulders?

Sam heard the screen door slam, and watched Bobby cross the junkyard from the window. If he squinted, he could barely make Dean out near the shed, head buried in the engine of an old Mustang.

Sam was alone for the first time since Dean had come back to the cabin in Cold Oak and hugged him so tightly his spine had cracked. That feeling of loneliness washed over him, and he let himself cry. He cried for everything he had lost, and everything he was going to lose. He sobbed and sobbed, until his eyes were dry. He took a deep, shaky breath, and righted himself. He'd needed to get that out. He hadn't cried like that since the night Jess had died. He'd shed a few tears over his father, but that loss had been at odds with his relief that his brother wasn't dying. But now, he'd needed that moment of unadulterated self-pity. Now, he could stand up, and fix this.

Sam was lucky enough to be unable to count on both hands how many times his brother had had his back. Now, he would have Dean's back. He would save his brother. He had 519300 minutes left to save his brother's life.

He had work to do.

* * *

 **A/N:** There's that! Hope you guys enjoy! Please review and I'll see you next week!


	45. Tragedy

**A/N:** Hi gang, and welcome to season 3 of _In His Glow_! Thanks to Xeraphina Laurentia, Bjester74, celinenaville, Sallyannerenee, zekeschance, Colby's girl, NightReader22, waitingforAslan, hectatess, lenail125, and spnfanforlife for reviewing, and for sticking with me through 40 plus chapters.

So this one is tagged to 3x01, _The Magnificent Seven_. It basically takes place right before they find the case with the 7 Deadly Sins. I hope you enjoy it! Please drop me a line telling me what you think!

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing belongs to me. I mean, seriously, nothing. I burned my copy of _Dr. Faustus_ when I was finished with it because I hated it so much.

* * *

 **Tragedy**

Bobby winced slightly when he heard his knees crack as they bent so he could plop himself down next to Sam on the front stoop. Dean was off screwing some chick, and Sam had been sitting out on the front stairs since he had left, pouring over an old lore book about demons.

It had only been about a week and a half since Cold Oak and the Devil's Gate and " _I couldn't let him die, Bobby. He's my brother_ ,", and honestly, Sam hadn't been the same since. The kid would get lost in space more often than he used to, and Bobby would catch him just staring at Dean when he thought Dean wasn't paying attention. Except, Dean was always paying attention. He'd brought it up to Bobby before he left, hoping that he would be able to get through to Sam.

So Bobby nudged the sweating beer bottle against Sam's hand and urged him to close the old copy of _Dr. Faustus._ "C'mon, Sam. It's been hours. You're gonna wear out your eyes reading in this light anyway. Take a break, son."

"I can't, Bobby." Sam absentmindedly grabbed the bottle and placed it down next to him before flipping the page.

"Why not?"

"Because."

"Because why?"

"Because…because."

"Because isn't an answer, Sam."

"I just can't, okay?"

It was like arguing with a three-year-old, except it was usually a young Dean who would give one word answers.

"And why not?"

Sam slammed the book closed and skittered it across the porch. "Because I've already wasted enough time, Bobby! I need to get this done, now!"

"Why right this minute? Dean's not going anywh…" _Balls_.

"Yes he is, Bobby!" Sam looked up at him with tears in his eyes. "He's going to Hell. In a year. If I don't stop it. And I have to stop it. I've already wasted too much time. I'm not going to waste anymore."

"Sam," Bobby said in a gentle tone that belied his grizzled appearance. "This whole demon deal thing happened just a week ago. You haven't wasted any time. Take a break, go take a nap or somethin', and in an hour we'll hit the books together to see what we can do about that idjit brother o'yours."

"That's not what I'm talking about, Bobby!" Sam shouted, jumping up and pacing like a caged animal back and forth across the gravel.

"Then why don't you calm the Sam hill down and tell me what it is you are talking about!"

Sam threw himself down on the stairs, chest heaving with suppressed emotion. The yard was silent for a few long minutes. "I left him…" came Sam's near-silent voice. "I left him for almost four years…That's time we'll never get back."

Bobby sighed and pulled his cap down further over his eyes. "Sam…"

" _I_ cut those ties, Bobby. I burned all those bridges and said 'To hell with my family', because I thought that what I wanted was what mattered most. _I_ wanted to go to school; _I_ wanted to live my own life; _I_ wanted to get out of the family business. He just let me go. He did what he always does, and he put me first. Then I got that call about Dean being in the hospital, after that wendigo hunt and…God, he just looked so defeated when I told him that I wasn't going to drop everything and run to the hospital every time he landed himself in one. He was so… so small in that bed, so vulnerable…and I just lit fire to everything, because I wanted to put my own stupid self ahead of everything, including Dean. Now…I just can't waste any more time. Dean sacrificed his _life_ for me; I can't just wait around, not doing anything, because I'm tired or hungry or because my eyes hurt. It's not fair to him."

They listened as the crickets chirped while the sun set red over the shed. Bobby knew that the time Dean and Sam had spent separated had hurt them both, but he had never guessed that Sam would go so far as to second guess his decision to go to school all because his brother was staring down the barrel of a very long gun.

"Sam, you know he never blamed you, right?" Sam looked up at him with those damn hounds eyes, looking so damn hopeful that Bobby's heart broke. "Damn it, son. You don't really think he holds those years against you, do ya?" Sam looked down at the beer bottle in his hands and shrugged. "Listen here, 'cause I'm only gonna say this once. I made that brother o'yours rest here after he got out of the hospital after that hunt. I asked him if your daddy knew what had happened, and he said that the hospital had called you, not him. He told me that you wanted him to change his contact info. And you know what? He was so damn proud of you that he could've burst right here on my porch. Yeah, maybe he didn't say it; we both know that's not Dean's way. But damn it if it wasn't written all over his face. To him, it probably hurt like hell to know that you didn't want to be his emergency contact anymore, but it also meant that you didn't need him anymore, that you were gonna be okay on your own."

"But I wasn't Bobby." The poor kid was damn near whimpering in his grief. "Before Jess, I pretended to be okay. I went to class; I acted like everybody else. When Jess came into my life, I felt like everything was finally falling into place, except that I would still find myself going to say something to Dean, like he was gonna be right over my shoulder. Now Jess is gone and Dad's gone, and I don't know if I can do this without him." Sam chuckled sadly and wiped the tears off his cheeks. "Damn it, I swore I wasn't going to cry over this anymore."

"Sam, it's okay to be upset. But seriously, wearing yourself out isn't gonna help anybody. Plus, I don't think the answer is gonna be in some book. So, why don't you come inside, grab a nap, and we'll try to figure this thing out when your brother gets back."

Sam nodded wearily and stood, leaning down only to swipe up the book that he had carelessly tossed across the porch. "He's gonna be okay. Right?"

"Between the three of us…yeah, he will be."

Bobby could only hope he was right.

* * *

 **A/N:** So yeah, another Bobby POV. I really like writing from Bobby's perspective. It's fun to shake it up a little. Please review; I just finished watching the latest episode of _This Is Us_ (Sterling K. Brown/Gordon Walker's new show), and I can't stop crying. Some reviews would really cheer me up. Thanks for reading, and I'll see you next week!


	46. father, n

**A/N:** Do you guys know what serendipity is? It's defined as "the occurrence or development of events in a happy or beneficial way". So, for example, me posting the chapter for 3x02, _The Kids Are Alright_ , which happens to be entitled 'father, n.', the day after Jared goes on _Live with Kelly_ and announces that there will be a third Padalecki born in March. So yeah, serendipity. Something about this fic is just working out: I wrote the chapter _Twins_ the day before the Ackles announced that they were having twins, the Christmas chapter will be posted at Christmas time, and the chapter that will be posted on Dean's birthday is about Dean's birthday. The only one that was planned that way was Christmas, btw, so I'm feeling really fortunate about the way things are looking so far.

Anyway, disregard my joyous little rant. Many thanks to Xeraphina Laurentia, angellec, Bjester74, Noxbait, Sallyannerenee, lenail125, hectatess, SammysGirl42 (Thank you for your awesome review!), Tempermental18, Colby's girl, NightReader22, waitingforAslan, and spnfanforlife for their kind words and encouragement. I can't wait to hear what you have to say about this one.

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me. Only my emotions, which are currently strung higher than a kite.

* * *

 **father, n.**

"So…Ben…"

"What about him?" They had been in the car for less than twenty minutes before Sam turned to him to start his usual badgering.

"How old is he?"

"Just turned eight."

"Hmm. And you were with Lisa…when, exactly?"

"Eight years ago," Dean answered, smirking internally at the knowledge that his vague answers were driving his little brother crazy.

"Hmm…"

"What's 'hmm'?"

"Nothing. I just find it interesting that she has a son from approximately the same time you were hooking up with her. You were what? Twenty, twenty-one when you hooked up with her?"

"Yep," Dean replied, popping his 'p' as he glanced in the rearview mirror to switch lanes. He could feel a grin pulling on his lips as he remained deliberately ignorant. Sam's pinched face and frustrated groan did nothing to help Dean keep his poker face on.

"Dean!"

"What?" he managed to get out before sputtering in laughter.

Sam chuckled a little, glad to see his brother so happy. It was in lighthearted moments like this that he could forget his brother's damnation. "C'mon man! Is he yours or not?"

"Wow, way to be blunt, Sammy."

"Deeeaaannn!"

Dean laughed. "Alright, alright. No, he's not mine. I'm not an idiot, Sam. I know how to use protection."

"Yeah, I know. I remember you giving me 'The Talk'." Both brothers shuddered at that particular memory. "Still, accidents happen. Jess and I had a pregnancy scare in August before our last year of school. Almost gave me a heart attack."

"Haha, I bet. But yeah, Ben's not mine. Lisa had a DNA test done when he was born. Unknown biker dude is the lucky guy."

The conversation lapsed into silence as the Impala's tired ate up the pavement, and Sam took the opportunity to process the information that Dean had just given him.

Dean actually sounded…disappointed that Ben wasn't his, and Sam could kind of understand why. When he and Jess had their pregnancy scare in August 2005, he thought that he was going to pass out. But when all six of the home kit pregnancy tests came back negative, he'd been kind of bummed out about it. Not that either of them were in any position whatsoever to have and take care of a child, but Sam thought that they could have pulled it off, one way or another. He'd have happily put off law school to take care of the baby. The school year would have been over by the time the baby came along, so Jess could've had a few months off before continuing with nursing school. Plus, and this was a secret that Sam would take with him to the grave if need be, he knew the baby would bring Dean closer to home, maybe even get him to quit hunting for good. Family was Dean's number one priority, with Sam coming at the top of a too-short list of relatives. If Sam and Jess had been lucky enough to have a kid, Dean would've been on their front door step, ready and willing to be put to work. He'd have been Uncle Dean, the coolest damn uncle any kid in California could ask for. Also, hindsight is a total bitch. Sam had moved on enough to admit that it would have been nice to have a piece of Jess to keep near him after the fire. However, it just wasn't meant to be.

Maybe that's where Dean's head was at. As much as Dean was playing off the whole 'dead in 329 days' thing, Sam could still read his big brother like his favourite book. Dean would be turning 29 in January, and, by a normal person's standards, he didn't really have anything to show for it. He didn't have a home, or a 9 to 5 job, or a wife and kids. Except that he _did_ have something to show for it. Many somethings. He had an Uncle who was almost as torn up about Dean possibly dying as Sam was. He had a little brother who would be dead without him, many times over. He had the Impala, which he treated with all the dignity and respect any lady deserved. That's not even counting the sheer amount of lives he had saved over the course of his lifetime.

But Sam couldn't say any of that to his brother. Not only would it be breaking the 'no chick flick' rule, it would mean admitting to Dean that he was worried enough to be thinking that line of thought. Dean already didn't want Sam to try to break the deal, finding out that Sam was stressed and worried about it would make him put the kibosh on any future attempts at finding a solution. Sam, however, still felt like he had to say something. Dean had said that Ben's biological father was 'lucky', which meant that, on some level, Dean felt unlucky.

"It's too bad about Ben, man," Sam began softly, keeping his eyes resolutely out the window. Dean grunted in acknowledgement, so Sam knew that he hadn't pressed too hard and was free to continue. "You would've been a great dad, Dean."

The silence dragged on for so long that, had Dean not been the one driving, Sam would've thought that he had fallen asleep. As it was, Sam glanced over when he heard Dean inhale a shaky breath. His hands were tight around the wheel, and it was obvious that his jaw was clenched. Sam opened his mouth to apologize but was beat to the punch.

"Thanks Sammy. That means a lot."

Sam nodded mutely and resumed his vigil out the window. If anything, finding out about Lisa and Ben had hardened Sam's determination to save his brother even more. Dean had found happiness, and obviously wanted a family, so Sam would make sure he got one, even if he had to die to make it happen. So when Ruby approached him that night, after they had found a motel and Dean had gone out to drink away the idea of Lisa and Ben, and claimed that she could save Dean, Sam didn't hesitate. Dad had died to save Dean. Dean had damned himself to save Sam. Sam was willing to do whatever it took to save Dean.

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 **A/N:** Okay, so if it wasn't obvious, this one is dedicated to not only Jared and Jensen, but also all the other fathers on _Supernatural_ , and all of your fathers for having a hand in making all of you amazing people. I hope you all have a great week, and I will see you on Tuesday!


	47. Little Boy, Be a Man

**A/N:** Hi everybody, and welcome back! I know that this last week has been rough, especially for my American friends and readers, no matter which way they voted. But we push on, we continue to live and fight for what we believe is right, and we do what the SPN Family does best: we continue to love each other and support each other. This family has got your back. I'd like to thank NightReader22, Bjester74, Xeraphina Laurentia, Tempermental18, SammysGirl42, shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod, celinenaville, spnfanforlife, hectatess, lenail125, and Sallyannerenee for having my back and supporting me in my writing.

This chapter is tagged to 3x03, _Bad Day at Black Rock_. Love this episode. It's funny and cute and lighthearted, which is something I think we all need after the past week. The title, 'Little Boy, Be a Man', comes from a song from the tragically short-lived Broadway musical, _Catch Me if You Can_ , based on the Leo DiCaprio movie of the same name. I highly recommend listening to the soundtrack.

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

 **Little Boy, Be a Man**

 _ **Farr West, Utah, 1995**_

Dean calmly and repeatedly banged the back of his head against the wall behind his bed. He would've laughed at the fact that the _thump_ his head made when it connected with the cheap plywood was timed perfectly with every tenth word screamed from the mouths of his father and brother, but he wasn't in the mood to see the silver lining.

Dean had been back from Sonny's Boys Home for six weeks. The first six hours had been a blessing. He felt like the iron band that had been slowly tightening around his heart and lungs had been removed, and the dark pit in his gut had stopped aching the second Sam had tumbled out of the car and tackled him. Two months without his brother, erased with a single hug. But unfortunately for Dean, Sam had passed out as soon as they had settled into the motel in Buffalo, and Dean was left to deal with his father's rage all on his own. Dean had taken one look at his father's face and marched outside, knowing that what was coming would likely wake Sam, and Dean hadn't lied to Sam's face about getting lost on a solo black dog hunt only to have him find out that he had let him down because their father had no volume control.

"… _could've lost Sam to CPS…_ "

"… _stupid…irresponsible…_ "

" _How could you do something like that to your brother? You know he cried himself to sleep that night, thinking you were lost out there?_ "

 _Thump…Thump…Thump…_

"…selfish!"

"How am I being selfish, Dad? I just want to go out for the team! All the other kids get to do it!"

"You're not like all the other kids, Sam! We have a responsibility! This siren hunt is important! We are driving out to Florida tonight!"

"But that's not fair!" Sam whined as Dean finally snapped. He hauled himself out of bed, threw open his bedroom door and strode out into the living room. "You promised we could stay until school was over!"

"Sam…" The low and gentle call brought Sam to his side. Dean placed his hand softly on his kid brother's shoulder and pushed him towards the front of the house, keeping his eyes firmly upon his father. "Go play outside for a bit. You've got to get some practice in if you're going to kill it at try outs on Monday."

Sam instantly brightened. "Okay Dean! Will you come out and help me later? I need someone to play against if I'm ever going to be any good." At Dean's nod, Sam exploded towards the door, only stopping to pick up his sneakers.

Dean watched him go before returning his gaze to his father, who had only gotten redder in the thirty seconds that had passed.

" _The things I do for you, Sammy,_ " Dean sighed to himself as he carefully positioned himself outside of hitting distance.

"He's not staying." John stood ramrod straight, making himself look even bigger than he was, and suddenly Dean had a vision of his father standing tall in his military uniform. The war in 'Nam was over, and yet John Winchester's war was just beginning.

"Yes he is. You promised."

John couldn't have looked more surprised if Dean had shot him in the head. Dean never fought back. Dean never argued. Dean agreed. He was his good soldier, his right hand man. "Dean, we have to go."

"No, _you_ have to go. We can stay. We'll see out the school year, and meet you in Florida after. Or, if the hunt is over, we'll meet you at Bobby's."

"Dean—"

"No, Dad. Not this time," Dean interrupted. He made eye contact with his father from across the room and refused to look away. "Look, when you picked me up from Sonny's, you told him that I have a job to do. Yeah, maybe you had a hunt that you needed back up on, so you finally decided to come and get me. But you also meant Sam. Protecting Sam is my job, and that's what I'm doing. We're staying. He deserves to have at least one normal thing in his life."

John crossed the living room in two long strides to stand nose to nose with his oldest son. "You sure this is a battle you want to pick, boy?"

Dean could see his confusion. As a son and a soldier, he was never this insubordinate. But he had changed. Two months at Sonny's had taught him that there was a value in fighting not only for innocent people, but also in fighting for what you believed was right. Plus, he had gotten two months of normal, apple pie life, including a stellar wrestling record and a girl. Sam deserved at least that, if not more. If he wanted to play soccer, Dean would do his damnedest to make that happen. He owed his little brother that much, especially after leaving him alone at Bobby's for those two months.

"Yes sir."

John sighed sadly as he turned away, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "What the hell happened to you, Dean? I need you to have my back, you know that. Both on a hunt and on the home front. I get that those two months couldn't have been easy, but get your head out of your ass. You're back now. And we're leaving."

"No sir." If Dean had been standing one step closer, John would've decked him, he was sure of it. Dean was supposed to be his easy son. "You got along just fine without me for two months, while you left me 'to rot'. One more month won't hurt anybody. Sam's gonna play soccer for school; I'll get a job to make sure we stay in the green; you'll go hunt the siren and meet up with us later." Dean turned on his heel and strode towards the front door, signaling that the fight was over.

The screen door of the house swung shut with a clang, causing John to flinch involuntarily. He stood there for a moment to compose himself before moving over to the window and cautiously peeking out through the ratty curtains.

Sam was running back and forth on the brown grass that passed as a lawn, chasing the soccer ball that must've been borrowed or—John shuddered to think—stolen. He watched Dean trot down the three front steps, shedding his jacket and his long sleeve, checked shirt as he went. He stood there in his black T-shirt, rolled his shoulders a few times, then sped off to intercept the ball. He could hear Sam's laugh even with all the windows closed. John sighed and looked down at his feet, feeling guilty for all the right reasons.

There was no denying what Dean had said. John felt bad that he had left Dean 'to rot' in a strange place when all he had been trying to do was provide for his brother that which he as a father seemed incapable of doing. Should Dean have gambled their money? No. But he had done the best he could in the situation he had been given to try to correct for his own rash actions. Did John know that by telling the officer to leave Dean to rot that he would not only be trying to teach his son a lesson, but also depriving him of the one thing that seemed to make Dean act irrationally? Yes. He had wanted Dean to start thinking and acting like a responsible man and, however much he hated to admit it, it seemed that he had achieved his goal.

* * *

"No way! That's my Division Championship soccer trophy. I can't believe he kept this," Sam smiled as he lovingly held the old soccer trophy in his hand.

John had caved after the argument with Dean, and allowed them to stay in Utah until the end of the first week of July. Sam had played his heart out on his school soccer team. Dean got a job sorting through scrap metal in a factory, nothing special but enough to bring in some much needed cash. John went on a few hunts, checking in every night on the boy he left behind and the man who was caring for him.

Sam never knew that the argument for him to play soccer had cost both Dean and John something precious. John had been forced to acknowledge that his son was a man, capable of making his own decisions though he rarely chose to. Dean however, who always saw his father as some sort of infallible superhero, learned that the price of his independence was that his father never quite looked at him the same way again. Though Dean never disobeyed or attempted to rebel against one of John's orders, he could sense the shift in their relationship and it hit him hard.

Dean laughed. "Yeah. It was probably about the closest you ever came to being a boy," he said, and that was that. Case closed. Sam never needed to know that a cheap plastic trophy had cost both of his caregivers so much, but Dean liked to think that John had kept it as a reminder that, despite all the arguments, he was lucky to have both of his boys.

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 **A/N:** Okie dokie. There's the latest chapter. Please review and spread the love. I'm always here if you need to chat about anything. Have a good week, and remember to love one another!


	48. Prayers of the Faithful

**A/N:** Hi everyone! First, I want to wish a Happy American Thanksgiving to all my American friends and readers! I'm especially thankful for waitingforAslan, Sallyannerenee, lenail125, Xeraphina Laurentia, SammysGirl42, NightReader22, hectatess, DearHart, spnfanforlife, celinenaville, and shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod for reviewing the last chapter!

This one is tagged to 3x04, _Sin City_. Not one of my favourite episodes nor is it one of my favourite chapters. It's very Sam-introspective, which I love, but I…I don't know. I'll let you guys judge it for yourselves. It also kinda ties into Chapter 36, _Prayers of the Faithless_ , which is ironic because I posted that chapter the day I started this one. Weird coincidence. Anyway, please enjoy and review!

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 **Prayers of the Faithful**

Sam Winchester was a gentle soul. Despite the way he was raised, what with his father's military training style and making bullets and learning Latin exorcisms, Sam knew that he was different from this lifestyle that had been forced upon him.

Despite Dean's recent claims that he and their father were more alike than he originally thought, Sam could not see himself in the man who had so readily trained his sons to be killers. He did not liken himself to the man who berated his oldest son when he was hurt, and he truly did not identify with the man who disowned him for wanting something…more. Sam enjoyed being different from his father. He reveled in the individuality that it brought, despite the constant arguing. He liked to think that he was destined for greater things than even John Winchester could imagine. Sometimes, he felt like he and his father weren't even on the same planet. They were too different.

He knew he was different from Dean as well. Dean was brash and bold. Dean was a sweet-talker and a trash-talker. Depending on his mood, Dean could be a superhero or your worst nightmare. Sam was none of the above. He preferred staying at home to study over tearing it up at the closest bar. Sam stuttered and blushed around women, and paid authority figures the respect he believed they deserved (excepting his father, of course). Sam was just…Sam. He was an ordinary kid, forced into extraordinary circumstances. And he loved his brother, he did. He never told him because he knew he would only receive a weirded-out look in return, but he loved Dean more than he loved anything until he met Jess. They were just different.

He liked being different from Dean less than he liked being different from his father. Oftentimes, he wished he could be more like Dean, especially with his big brother's time left on Earth becoming shorter by the minute. Dean was unstoppable. He could bluster and swagger with the best of them. He knew how to keep his head in impossible situations, and he always, _always_ , put other people ahead of himself, usually with 'other people' meaning Sam. But he knew that he had to change, one way or another. He would either lose himself in his attempts to save his brother, or he would be lost to guilt and grief when Dean died. If it came to the latter, and Sam knew he wouldn't let it get to that point, but if it did, he knew he would have to be strong and brave, but also cold and ruthless. He would have to _become_ Dean.

Not that that's how he viewed his brother, at least, not the latter part. Dean was a superhero. He was Batman, minus the riches but with an extra serving of screwed up backstory. Dean was strong and brave, strong enough to carry on in the face of multiple losses and brave enough to keep fighting even when the odds were against them. But he was not cold. Dean was one of the warmest people he had ever met. He had so much compassion for humans and humanity as a whole. He didn't show it that often, but Sam could tell. If a hunt caught their attention because of multiple deaths, Dean blamed himself for not cottoning on sooner that something fishy was going on. Or, if they arrived on a hunt and somebody died, he blamed himself for not being a fast enough researcher or runner or hunter. But he was ruthless, especially when it came to monsters. He took no pity and gave no mercy.

That was Sam's mindset walking into that basement. Demons were destroying this town, had killed a hunter, and had kidnapped Dean. Sam would terminate them with extreme prejudice and save his brother. He wasn't going to lose Dean, not yet. He still had 292 days left to save him, and he wasn't going to let some demon bitch and her ugly old lover take even one of those days away from him.

That didn't mean he didn't feel at least a twinge of guilt afterwards, though. When Dean was cleaning up the mess with Bobby, Sam retreated to the motel room. He laid salt down at the door and all the windows, and, just for good measure, put down a rug with a Devil's Trap on the bottom of it right in front of the door. He didn't want any surprises from Ruby while he was showering.

He quickly moved into the bathroom, turned the water on until it was scalding hot, shed his clothes, and jumped in. He was only standing there in the blistering heat for a moment before he felt that first telltale sob begin to creep up his throat.

Choking it back, he began. "Um…so…I know I'm probably the last person you want to hear from right now, but I just wanted to say that I'm sorry. Not about the demons. They deserved to die. But that girl…and the priest…Oh god, the priest…" A single sob escaped his lips as he shuddered, feeling cold inside despite the lava-like water pouring down on top of him. "I killed one of your servants. Why…why would you listen to anything I have to say?"

Sam dipped his head, relishing in the heat streaming down his face. The worst part of this whole situation wasn't that he had killed two innocent people just to get at the two demons that had been wearing them, one of those people being a priest. The worst part was, in fact, that the whole situation had caused him to question his faith. In killing a priest, he knew he had at least put a dent in whatever minimal favor God had left for him. He needed God's help and guidance to be able to save Dean, and he had probably just blown that all away. That knowledge tore at him on the inside.

But also, and this knowledge scared him more than anything, he would do it again. Those demons had been about to kill his brother in the same way they had killed Richie. He needed to get them away from Dean, so he had done just that. He had just…gone about it the wrong way.

"I just hope you listen to this one thing…" Sam whispered as he spun the dial so that the near-boiling water turned ice cold. He needed to hide his reddened skin from watchful eyes, namely Dean. "I was protecting my brother. Please don't fault me for that. Please just save Dean. He deserves to be saved."

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 **A/N:** Okie dokie. Thanks for reading everybody. Have a good week and I'll see you on Tuesday!


	49. mortality, n

**A/N:** Howdy gang! First things first, thanks to Sallyannerenee, Bjester74, shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod, zekeschance, Xeraphina Laurentia, SammysGirl42, lenail125, NightReader22, celinenaville, DearHart, hectatess, and spnfanforlife for their positivity. It means a lot.

This chapter is tagged to 3x05, _Bedtime Stories_. Great episode, and I hope you guys think it's a great chapter. Leave me a review and let me know, please!

 **Disclaimer** : Nothing belongs to me.

* * *

 **mortality, n.**

"Look sir, it's okay if—" Sam began to reassure, knowing that Kyle, the man in the hospital bed, was probably still reeling for the recent tragedies that had taken place. Attacked by some psychotic killer who tears his victims to shreds, plus the fact that the two victims were Kyle's brothers was enough for Sam to take pity on him. Reliving those memories was a hardship Sam did not begrudge him.

"No. No! Those were my brothers. This guy, he…he killed my brothers. How would you feel?"

Sam paused, feeling both Kyle's and Dean's resting upon him. Kyle had to have had no idea how that question would affect his interrogator, but it affected Sam all the same. After all, he knew exactly how it felt to fear for his brother's safety.

 _Sam laid on his stomach on the bed in the motel room, kicking his feet as he watched some documentary about penguins on the Discovery Channel. His chin rested on his folded hands as he watched the father penguin shuffle around with the egg while the mother went hunting. His feet banged against the headboard, which banged against the wall. Sam didn't care if management came over to tell him to keep it quiet. He was pissed._

 _Dean and Dad were out on a hunting trip. They'd only been gone a day and a half, but Sam had desperately wanted to go with them. It wasn't fair. He was ten years old! Dad had taken Dean on his first hunt at ten! Why didn't he get to go? He was just as smart and strong as Dean. Did Dad think he wasn't up to the task? Or was this Dean's fault, as Sam suspected?_

 _Sam sent a particularly vicious kick back at the headboard, relishing in the resulting 'BANG!'. Dean always treated him like a baby. 'Well,' Sam thought smugly, thinking back to what he had said to Dean before he had left with Dad. 'I sure told him how I feel about being his baby brother!'_

" _BANG!" Sam jumped up as the sound echoed not from behind him, but from the left. He reached for the shotgun beside the bed as the door swung open from whatever had kicked it in. Sam cocked the gun and aimed it steadily at the misshapen mass that waddled through the door, groaning and moaning as though it was in pain._

" _Sam…Sam…Sam…"_

" _Sammy…S—Sam—my..."_

 _Sam held his finger lightly against the trigger. The thing sounded like it had two voices, which wasn't right. It couldn't. Unless it was some transfiguration spell that had gone horribly wrong, nothing had two voices, not even wendigos. At least, nothing he had ever researched or learned about from his father._

" _Sam, damnit, are you listening to me? Shut the damn door and get your ass over here!" John's voice cut through his preponderance like a sharply serrated knife._

 _Sam scrambled to follow the orders, shaking his head at his idiocy. He should've recognized Dad's voice calling him, but where was Dean? Why did Dad look so strange in the darkness? And who the heck did that second voice belong to?_

" _S—Sammy…"_

 _Sam rushed over as John deposited Dean on the second bed, making sure to keep him rolled on his left side._

 _Sam swallowed back the bile and the scream that had risen up in his throat at the same time. Dean didn't look like Dean. Dean was supposed to come running in after a hunt, throw himself obnoxiously on the bed next to Sam so that he bounced a couple of times, steal the remote and turn on wrestling. He was supposed to noogie his younger brother, call him squirt or shorty or pipsqueak before pulling the covers up so that Sam was covered, roll over, and go to sleep. Dean wasn't supposed to be covered in blood, moaning in pain with his right arm pressed against his ribcage. Sam wasn't supposed to be able to see flashes of white where his brother's ribs were. Dean was supposed to be as opaque as frosted glass, not see through._

" _Sam!" John gave him a sharp swat to get his youngest son moving. "Hold his head so he doesn't move!"_

" _Dad, what happened?" Sam inquired desperately as he moved to follow, gingerly climbing onto the bed and lifting his big brother's head into his lap and bracing his hands on Dean's bare shoulders._

" _I don't know, Sam!" John growled as he popped open his flask of holy water. Dean screamed as the blessed water came into contact with his multiple wounds. "His head wasn't in it! I've never seen your brother so distracted during a hunt!" John shoved a roll of gauze into Dean's panting mouth as he followed up the Holy water with a fifth of Ketel One vodka. Dean let out a muffled moan before sagging back into Sam, eyes closed._

" _Dean! Dad! Dean!"_

" _Leave him, Sam. It's better that he's out for this." Sam closed his eyes as Dad pulled out the dental floss and fishhook._

 _The next couple of days were one long, endless drag for Sam. Dean remained unconscious as they quickly packed up their stuff, laid Dean out in the backseat of the Impala, and headed to South Dakota so that he could properly heal at Bobby's. Sam knew that he wouldn't be able to sleep or eat until Dean woke up, especially with the guilt of his final words to Dean before the hunt weighing on his mind, heart, and soul._

There had been a lot of close calls when it came to Dean's mortality, and Sam could vividly remember them all. Every drop of blood, every tear in Dean's eye as he realized that this time, he may actually _die_. But this? Staring down a rapidly declining clock, with all the tortures of Hell waiting at the buzzer if Sam didn't come up with some Hail Mary of a play? _This_ was the closest Dean had ever come to death.

Sam looked up and briefly caught Dean's sad, thoughtful, but determined eyes. He looked back at Kyle, who didn't look like he was expecting an answer, but Sam knew that he had to give one anyway. Sam could see himself in Kyle, and that scared him. He refused to be weak in the face of Dean's deal. He would save him, because the alternative would be too much to bear.

"Can't imagine anything worse."

* * *

 **A/N:** Thanks for all the love guys. Spread it everywhere! See you all on Tuesday! (I know I usually have longer author's notes, but _This Is Us_ was just on and my eyes won't stop leaking water).


	50. Impasse

**A/N:** Hi everybody! How is everything? So, I had the flu, which sucked because it's the flu, but was also awesome because I got to lie in bed all day and write. I'm deep into season 4's chapters right now, with only about 20 or so more until I'm done the first 5 seasons. Thanks to LiveInTheSunshine, NightReader22, Bjester73, celinenaville, Xeraphina Laurentia, zekeschance, waitingforAslan, Colby's girl, Tempermental18, hectatess, SammysGirl42, Beth Nottingham, spnfanforlife, and lenail125 for their amazing kindness and support.

This is the tag for 3x06, _Red Sky at Morning_. Definitely not in my Top 10 episodes, but a decent enough one, and their last conversation led me to this, so there you have it. Please review!

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

 **Impasse**

"Hey, listen," Sam perked up a little, but did not lift his gaze from the map he was currently staring at. He had a sneaky feeling he knew that this would be a continuation of their pre-case conversation, which had only been put on hold because of a bitchy British lady, and he wasn't exactly looking forward to his brother yelling at him for something he deemed to be too dangerous for Sam to be doing. "I've been doing some thinking. Um…I want you to know I get why you did it. I understand why you went after the crossroads demon." Sam sighed in frustration. Not exactly the way he thought the conversation would proceed, especially considering he highly doubted that Dean actually did understand why he did what he did. "You know, situation reversed, I guess I'd've done the same thing." Sam mentally scoffed. Dean basically _had_ done the same thing, except that instead of shooting the crossroads demon, he had kissed her. That's what had gotten them into this whole mess in the first place. "I mean, I'm not blind. I see what you're going through with this whole deal, me going away and all that. But you're gonna be okay."

Dean shot Sam what he must have thought was a reassuring smile, but Sam felt his soul shrivel up at the sight of it. When would Dean understand? Why couldn't he see that Sam was never really okay without him?

" _Maybe because you never gave him a reason to…_ " a small voice whispered within him.

Sam felt himself shrink at the very thought. "You think so?" He didn't realize until after that he didn't know who he was speaking to at that moment, himself or Dean. That made it all the worse. He didn't have time to mull over that conundrum because Dean was eagerly nodding.

"Yeah, you'll keep hunting, y'know, you'll live your life. You're stronger than me. You are!" Sam cleared his throat. How could Dean think that? Dean was Batman, Sam was only Robin. Robin was some kid with a couple of useful skills, but he wouldn't be able to do anything, _be anything_ , without Batman at his side. Dean continued in a softer voice, and Sam closed his eyes to ward off the all-too familiar feeling of tears creeping into his eyes. "You are…you'll get over it. But I want you to know I'm sorry. I'm sorry for…putting you through all this. I am."

" _You should be sorry!_ " Sam wanted to scream it out, shout at his brother for this pain in his chest that wouldn't go away, the pain that he had caused. Yet, Sam was mute, silenced by all the memories of times when he had given Dean reason to think that his little brother would be okay without him.

Flagstaff, for one. Stanford for another. The constant running away when things got tough or didn't go his way. Accusing him of only ever taking Dad's side, or for being some mindless drone instead of his own person. He'd thought that he was protecting his brother, believing that he would live longer if he wasn't constantly worried about protecting Sam over himself. In reality, he had only been protecting himself from this very situation.

The very idea of his brother dying was completely ludicrous. His brother couldn't _die_. Not after everything Sam and John had done to keep him safe. Not only that, but Dean just didn't do weakness. He didn't tap out of a fight, and he _never_ ran when things got hard. To Dean, death should have been the ultimate weakness. Instead, he seemed to be embracing it. Maybe it was to save Sam's life, but still! This wasn't fair. Sam hadn't asked to be saved. He hadn't asked Dean to forfeit his life for his little brother's. In fact, he had asked the exact opposite. He had asked Dean to let him go, allow him to pass on if this Yellow Eyed Demon thing got out of control. Maybe he hadn't gone dark side, and yeah, he had done everything in his power to prevent himself from going that way, but he still felt like Dean should have honored his wishes.

Sam felt the anger build up inside of him at the thought. "You know what, Dean? Go screw yourself!"

Sam saw a flash of hurt in Dean's eyes. "What?"

"I don't want an apology from you! And by the way, I'm a big boy now. I can take care of myself." He knew the words were counter-argumentative, considering the toddler-sized tantrum he was currently throwing. At some level, he also knew the words weren't true. He didn't know how to convince Dean that even on his best days, he still needed his brother. It was unhealthy and probably unstable, but it was true. He didn't need an apology from Dean, he just needed Dean. He needed the guy who was willing to shoot Bela in the face for shooting him in the shoulder. Nobody, not even Jess, had ever shown him that level of loyalty and love. It astonished him that Dean never saw that level of devotion as reciprocal, that he never considered that there was someone out there who loved him as much as Dean loved them.

"Oh, well, excuse me."

Sam felt something inside of him snap. He felt like, if he didn't hammer this lesson home to Dean soon, he would never get it and would die thinking that his death was the best option for everyone.

"So would you please quit worrying about _me_? I mean that's the whole problem in the first place. I don't want you to worry about me, Dean, I want you to worry about you! I want you to give a crap that you're dying!"

To Sam, he was asking nothing. A level of self-preservation that even the lowest animals on the food chain had ingrained in their DNA. He thought that his brave, kind, incredibly smart older brother could at least accomplish that.

To Dean, Sam was asking a fish to get out of water and do the conga. Stop worrying about Sam? Might as well ask him to stop breathing. It just wouldn't happen. It wasn't in his DNA.

* * *

 **A/N:** Alright lovelies. I gotta get to bed so I can get up and work a 12 hour day tomorrow, so please leave me something to look forward to! Love you all, and I'll see you all on Tuesday!


	51. Pint-Sized Hero

**A/N:** Hi everybody! Hope everyone had a great week! Mine was a little odd. We finally got snow here, but it happened when I was in the middle of freaking nowhere and I had to drive home. Never been so terrified in my entire life!

Thanks to Bjester74, Maya, waitingforAslan, SammysGirl42, Xeraphina Laurentia, lenail125, NightReader22, hectatess, Tempermental18, shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod, and spnfanforlife for the reviews and the extra conversations! They were really fun and eye opening.

This chapter is tagged to 3x07, _Fresh Blood_. Absolutely love the twist of fate with Gordon Walker! Such a sick way for that character to go out. And, of course, that heartfelt plea at the end. So sad. And Big Brother teaching Little Brother how to take care of the Impala because he's not gonna be there for much longer! Cries! So, please, enjoy!

 **Disclaimer** : Nothing belongs to me. Zip, zilch. Nada.

* * *

 **Pint-Sized Hero**

 **June 1** **st** **, 1987**

 _ **Sioux Falls, South Dakota**_

"… _and I painted a picture of the 'Pala, but Teacher said I couldn't bring it home 'til tomorrow cuz it's still wet. And then Teacher read us more of the Cat'n the Hat! 'Cept she didn't finish it because Taylor was being mean to Billy, so she had ta stop. Oh! And we talked about heroes cuz Teacher said we were gonna meet some real life heroes tomorrow!"_

 _Four-year-old Sam Winchester toddled down the long driveway of Singer's Salvage Yard, small grubby hand held inside the larger hand of his big brother, Dean. The school bus had just dropped the boys off at the end of the driveway, which left them a good ten-minute walk up to their Uncle Bobby's house._

" _So, I guess you're gonna meet Batman tomorrow, huh Sammy?" Dean teased, shifting his shoulder slightly so that Sam's school bag stopped banging against his own._

 _Sam scoffed with a teenager's attitude, making Dean grin. "No! Dean, we're meeting_ _ **real**_ _heroes! Like a p'liceman and a firefighter! Teacher said we was also gonna meet a lady doctor!"_

" _That sounds real cool, Sammy. You'll have to tell me all about it," Dean replied. It was always like this after school. Sam would jabber on and on about the silly things his friends did and the cool things his teacher taught them. Kid loved school. Dean, however, did not. He went because he had to, and because somebody had to look out for Sam. Parts of it he liked. English because they read cool stuff, Math because there was only one right answer, and Science because they got to blow stuff up, but other than that, it was a waste of time. "So what kinda heroes did you talk about today?"_

" _Well, we talked about the lady doctor, and the p'liceman. Teacher wanted the firefighter to be a surprise but she told me because she said I was super good today and that I had a super good answer to her q'estion!"_

 _Dean wryly shook his head. The kid was four, and he was already a kissass. He'd definitely do well in school if he kept that up. "And what answer was that, shorty?"_

" _Well," Sam started, straightening up and stopping their swinging hands. Dean snorted back a laugh. "Well, Teacher asked us ta talk about any heroes we know in real life. Arthur tried to talk about Superman, but Teacher told him no cuz Superman's not real. 'Kenzie talked about her daddy, who was a soldier like Daddy. Then it was my turn, and I didn't want to talk about Daddy cuz 'Kenzie had just talked about her daddy, so I talked all about my hero!"_

" _And who's that?" Dean asked distractedly as he pulled Sam out of the way of an oncoming truck. The man driving it was old like Uncle Bobby, and he had a dark black mustache. He half-waved at the boys as he went by._

" _Well, I said that he always makes sure I gets Lucky Charms in the mornin'. And that I gots lunch in the noon. And he always plays Cops and Robbers with me. And I said that I wanna be just like him when I grows up because he's big and strong and smart and brave and that he never gets scared!"_

 _Dean nodded as they tramped up the front porch stairs. Bobby, who had been waiting for them, swung open the front door._

" _Hey boys, how was school?"_

 _Dean shot him a look, to which Bobby smiled. Dean grinned back, not begrudging Bobby for wanting to know about Sam's day, even if he had already heard the same story four times since getting on the bus (Taylor seemed like a real demon child). "Sounds like Sammy had a good day, Uncle Bobby. He even got to talk about you for a little."_

" _Dean, why you bein' silly!?" Sam squealed, slapping Dean in the stomach. "I didn't talk about Uncle Bobby!"_

" _Oh yeah?" Dean dodged the next slap and squatted down so he could stare Sam down on the same level. "Then who'd ya talk about, pipsqueak?"_

 _Sam launched himself at Dean with all of his four-foot might. "YOU, silly!"_

 _Dean froze. He could feel Bobby disentangling Sam from around his neck and heard him murmur something about going to watch TV while he made a snack._

 _Dean couldn't believe it._ _ **He**_ _was Sammy's hero? No. Not possible. He was just a kid. Heroes were people like Uncle Bobby and Dad, and Pastor Jim and Caleb, and Martin and Fred Jones. Heroes saved people from bad stuff, from the thing that took Mom. Dean didn't do anything like that. All he did was do what Dad asked him to do. He took care of Sam. He learned how to shoot a gun. He learned how to take care of Dad when he was hurt. He learned how to cook Mac'N'Cheese and Spaghetti-O's so that Sam had something to eat when they couldn't stay with Uncle Bobby. He didn't save people. Dad was the real hero. He was the one who made sure that Dean knew how to take care of Sam. He made sure they had money so that Sam could eat. Dean Winchester was no hero. John Winchester, on the other hand…_

" _Y'okay, son?" Bobby turned Dean around gently and knelt down in front of him._

" _I'm no hero, Uncle Bobby. Why does Sammy think I am?" Dean asked shyly, staring down at his torn and holey sneakers._

 _Bobby sighed and pushed Dean towards a kitchen chair. He deposited himself into the neighbouring one and took off his cap. "Well Dean, obviously Sam sees you as a hero."_

" _But I'm not!" Dean looked up and Bobby could read the devastation in his eyes like a Latin lore book._

 _Bobby scrambled for something to say. "Well…" he tested, attempting to zero in on some knowledge that would help put the seven-year old's worries to rest. "Well, Batman doesn't see himself as a hero, does he?" Dean looked up, puzzled but nodding. "So maybe that's the kind of hero Sam sees you as."_

 _Dean nodded slowly, taking in the new information. "But…but he said he wants to be just like me. What…what if I'm not good enough?"_

" _Dean…" Bobby felt his heart break. "Why does Sam think you're a hero?"_

" _He said it's cuz I'm big and strong and brave."_

" _Well then, as long as you keep acting like that, I don't think it's a bad thing that Sam wants to be just like you. Just don't go givin' him any stupid ideas, you hear?" Bobby gently nudged Dean's elbow with his own, causing the kid to smile._

" _Okay…Thanks, Uncle Bobby."_

* * *

"I've been following you around my entire life! I mean, I've been looking up to you since I was four, Dean. Studying you, trying to be just like my big brother. So yeah, I know you. Better than anyone else in the entire world. And this is exactly how you act when you're terrified. And, I mean, I can't blame you. It's just…"

Sam stopped, not knowing how to phrase his next thought without tearing Dean to shreds inside. He felt like they were caught in an endless cycle of Dean doing something reckless, Sam begging him to stop because he couldn't lose him, and Dean stopping for a little while before going back to being reckless because he was already dying. Inside, he felt like that little kid again, the one who thought that his big brother could do anything, _be anything_ , and never fail. It was a hero worship that had waned over time, but had never been completely disappeared. He wondered briefly if this was how Dean had felt when John had died. Was this complete and utterly devastating heartbreak the way people felt when they watched their hero fall? Sam could only wonder, if this was how he felt with Dean still having 153 days left, how would he feel if they ever reached that inevitable day ( _which just happened to be his birthday, which he didn't even want to begin contemplating_ )? He felt himself shake at the very prospect.

"What?"

"I wish you would drop the show and be my brother again. 'Cause…"

" _Because I feel like you're already gone sometimes. Because I don't want to have to miss you when you're still standing right in front of me. Because you've always been there to show me the ropes, and I need you to do it again. Because I feel lost. Because I'm scared. Because you're my big brother, and I love you, and I don't want you to die for me._ "

"Just 'cause."

* * *

 **A/N:** There you go. More angst. Please review! Oh, and I might as well tell you that I will be updating next week. I know a lot of people are busy with the holidays, but I've got a great chapter coming up (if I do say so myself), so I hope you'll share your holidays with me and my chapter! Lots of love!


	52. Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas

**A/N:** Hi everyone! First, a Christmas present to you all. I'm gonna be going back to two updates a week at the end of January! That gives me time to write some more, considering I'll be going back to school in May. The twice a week updates will go on until at least then. Also, and please pardon my shameless plug, but there's another Christmas fic that I wrote last year, called _Christmas is Coming Around Again_. It's a different, happier take on the two years that Sam and Dean didn't speak to one another. I hope you'll all check it out.

Second, thanks to NightReader22, waitingforAslan, Bjester74, spnfanforlife, Linguam, hectatess, Tempermental18, shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod, Beth Nottingham, Sallyannerenee, Angellec, lenail125, and celinenaville for the amazing and heartwarming words of kindness and support. They're like the gift that keeps on giving.

Lastly, this chapter is (obviously) tagged to 3x08, _A Very Supernatural Christmas_. Remember how I was talking about serendipity a few weeks ago? I absolutely did not plan for this chapter to hit so close to Christmas; it just kind of did. It's a Christmas miracle! So, I hope you all enjoy!

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own _Supernatural_ or any of its affiliates. I also do not own the carol " _Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas_ " or Mel Torme, whose version of this song I highly recommend listening to while reading (I love the haunting quality of his version).

* * *

 **Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas**

" _Have yourself a merry little Christmas,_

 _Let your heart be light…_

 _From now on our troubles will be out of sight…_ "

Cheery Christmas music rang out of every store that Sam passed on his walk back to the motel. Dean had insisted on going out to get dinner and drinks in order to have some semblance of a holiday, despite Sam's initial rejection of the idea. Instead of hauling ass back to the motel from the Carrigan's house only to have Dean drop him off, turn around, and go back through town, Sam argued his brother into dropping him off in the town square, about two miles from the motel. Dean hadn't been too happy about it ( _"It's Christmas, Sam._ _ **Christmas!**_ "), but he had eventually and begrudgingly agreed.

Sam walked down the near empty street, collar turned up against the cold and head down. With Mr. and Mrs. God lying dead in their cozy living room, the effects of their human sacrifices had worn off and it had finally begun to snow. A little girl raced past Sam, going in the opposite direction, tongue out in an attempt to catch a snowflake. Her hand-holding parents strolled a few feet behind her, grinning good naturedly.

Sam felt a bolt of hatred shoot through him at the very sight of them. He hated hating them, but he couldn't help it. They looked so…happy. Hopeful. Young. Free. They knew they had years of family time and holidays ahead of them. It wasn't their fault that Sam hated them, hated this whole Christmas season. There was no way that they could possibly know the reason.

At one point in his life, Sam had envisioned himself as that happy man who had just passed him. Jess walking next to him, a little boy or girl racing ahead of them in their excitement to get to the motel where Uncle Dean was holed up. Sam and his family, or, at least, the only family that mattered. But Jess was gone, and so was any hope of that innocent child that would have been solely theirs. Dad was gone too, though he hadn't been a part of that particular vision. Now Dean was going, in 130 days. It was hard to have hope, even in its supposed perpetual season, when Sam could see the noose slowly tightening around his brother's neck.

Honestly, Sam felt selfish for not wanting to celebrate Christmas. Dean had sacrificed everything for him. His childhood. Blood, sweat, and tears. Now his life. And all he asked for in return was for Sam not to renege on the deal ( _which he had already tried to do_ ), for the two of them to keep hunting together like nothing was wrong ( _while Sam just wanted to hide and research_ ), and one lousy Christmas. Sam could've kicked something if there had been anything around to kick. He felt like such a failure as a brother, but he just couldn't bring himself to pretend, to live in denial for one night. He couldn't do it. He hated himself, but he just couldn't do it.

Sam's own words from that fateful night in Wyoming came back to him, unbidden. " _You've saved my life over and over. I mean, you sacrifice everything for me! Don't you think I'd do the same for you? You're my big brother. There's_ _ **nothing**_ _I wouldn't do for you._ "

Sam blinked at the memory, and if it hadn't been for the fact that the escaped tears froze instantly to his face, he wouldn't have realized that he was crying. He felt an immense sorrow rise up in his chest and throat. " _This time next year, everything will be different. He'll be gone. And I'll be alone,_ " Sam thought as he choked on his emotions, feeling his cheeks redden at the thought of what Dean would say if he found his little brother crying in the middle of a random street in Michigan on Christmas Eve.

"Ho, Ho, Ho! You alright there, m'boy?"

Sam looked up, startled out of his macabre thoughts. A man in a Santa suit stood on the corner with a Salvation Army kettlebell. Given the fact that they were the only two people on the street, the young family long gone in the other direction, Sam knew that he had to answer. He considered lying and going on his way, but he couldn't help himself. He'd been carrying this weight around with him all month, and knew he couldn't confide in Dean or Bobby without upsetting them.

"Y—no, no I'm not." It felt almost good to admit it. He wasn't okay. Not even close.

"Anything Santa can do to help?" he asked in a raspy voice.

Sam grinned wryly. "Unless you know how to stop the clock, I highly doubt it."

The man looked at him over the fake half-moon glasses he was wearing. He looked way too young, at least a foot too short to be playing Santa, and his gut was obviously made of pillows, but his bright brown eyes shone jollily. He considered Sam for a moment, who felt stuck in place over the man's laser-like gaze. "Cancer or deployment?" he finally asked, dropping the phony Santa voice, ceasing his bell ringing and taking a step closer to Sam.

Sam blinked owlishly. "Sorry, what?"

"The look on your face. You can't stand the thought that it's Christmas because something terrible is happening in your life." Santa laughed as Sam's face adopted a 'deer-in-the-headlights' look. "Man, I've been doing this job for so long, it's become way too easy to read people. I wore this suit to the Children's Hospital in Detroit last week. Oncology ward. Nasty stuff, but the kids were ecstatic. Parents, on the other hand, had the same look you've got on. So, cancer or deployment? Something's gotta be getting you down."

Sam looked down at the snow covered sidewalk beneath his feet. No wonder Dean called him a girl, when this complete stranger was able to read everything about him after two seconds of looking at his face.

"Cancer, I guess…"

"Yours or someone else's?"

Sam sniffed. "My brother. They say he's only got a couple of months left, and he's refusing treatment." It probably should have upset him how quickly the lies rolled off his tongue, but he couldn't regret saying them. They were as close to the truth as he could get in a non-hunting crowd, and it felt good to talk about this with someone who didn't know all the details.

"That sucks man."

"It's just—" Sam continued as though he hadn't heard him. "It's just that he basically raised me, you know?" Another truth that Sam barely considered before saying, but the second the words left his mouth he knew them to be true. "He's given up everything for me, but he won't fight this. All he wants instead is for the two of us to celebrate Christmas as though nothing bad is gonna happen. And…and I don't think I can do that. It hurts too much…"

"I get it. I've lost people too. But everyone has lost people. And it sounds like your brother is trying to make things better, not only for himself, but for you too. If he knows that this will be his last Christmas, he probably wants to make it good for you too."

Sam smiled. Wasn't that Dean's MO? Even at his weakest, most vulnerable moments, he always turned to Sam to make sure he was okay first.

"I think you're right. Thanks Santa." Sam smiled at the man and deposited a ten-dollar bill in the man's kettlebell.

He started off at a brisk jog down the street, wanting to reach the convenience store across the street from their motel before Dean got back with dinner. If Dean wanted one last Christmas, Sam would damn well give him one. Only it wouldn't be his last Christmas. Sam would make sure of that. Sam owed him a lifetime of good Christmases, and it was time to pay up.

* * *

" _Through the years, we all will be together,_

 _If the fates allow._

 _Hang a shining star upon the highest bough_

 _And have yourself a merry little Christmas, now._ "

— _Mel Torme, "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas"_

* * *

 **A/N:** So, I suppose the only thing to say now is this: I wish you all the merriest of Christmases and the happiest of holidays, from my family to yours.


	53. Mirrors

**A/N:** Hi everyone! I hope you all had a wonderful Christmas/are having a wonderful Hanukkah/are having happy holidays/are enjoying the winter break. As 2016 winds down, I am reflecting on the massive shit show this year has been. Terror attacks all over the world; millions of people displaced and scared. The loss of such greats as Prince, Gene Wilder, Carrie Fisher, Anton Yelchin, Mohammad Ali, Alan Rickman, and David Bowie, not to mention countless others. Politics (nuff said). Despite this, I would like to give thanks to SammysGirl42, Dragonsrule18, spnfanforlife, Sallyannerenee, hollyhobbit101, zekeschance, lenail125, Xeraphina Laurentia, NightReader22, Tempermental18, hectatess, waitingforAslan, Beth Nottingham, shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod, and every other person who has reviewed this story this year. I owe you guys a lot for keeping me going this year, and I hope that 2017 blesses all of us with a much better, happier, and safer year.

Okay, on to the chapter, which, unfortunately, probably won't cheer anybody up because it is an angsty chapter. This one is tagged to 3x09, _Malleus Maleficarum_. That's all I'm going to say.

 **Disclaimer** : Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

 **Mirrors**

When Dean Winchester looks in the mirror, what does he see?

When he was four, he saw himself. He saw a boy, standing about four feet tall, with blond hair and bright green eyes. He saw the freckles that dusted his cheeks and nose. He saw the smile that always appeared, like magic, whenever he saw Mommy, Daddy and Sammy.

When he was five, he saw a little boy without a mommy. He saw a boy who had wished on his birthday candle that his mommy would come home to take care of Sammy and make Daddy happy, and had failed in making that wish come true.

After that, the mirrors were always layered in dirt and grime that made it difficult to see himself. His image became murky, unrecognizable. Just as his mirror image became hazy, he was being molded into something his four-year-old self wouldn't recognize. The sweetest little boy on the planet was being shaped into a deadly hunter.

When he was sixteen, he saw somebody who had been torn in half then sewn back together again. He saw Dad's perfect soldier, and he saw the high school wrestling champ. In that bathroom, he made the decision to hack off the part of him that was useless at keeping Sammy safe. It hurt, but he had made his decision. He was Sam's brother, and that's who he wanted to see staring back at him in the mirror.

When he was twenty-one, he saw tears. In that single occupancy bathroom in a dive bar in Maine, Dean Winchester saw himself cry for the first time. He could only relive the memory of plane after plane taking off down the runway, and he felt the tears claw at his chest as he sobbed quietly.

He avoided the mirror after that. He knew he looked good, so what did it matter? All a mirror could show him was the wreckage of the life he had left in his wake. If he did happen to look in a mirror, he did not see that green eyed boy staring back at him. He would see his absentee father, who took off after two weeks without Sam, unable to stand the look of sadness in his eldest boy's eyes. He would see Sammy, staring back at him with those puppy dog eyes, as if to say " _Why didn't you come with me? Why didn't you stop him from kicking me out? It's all your fault…_ "

Dean Winchester hated mirrors. They reflected what was on the surface, but never showed the storm raging underneath.

When he was twenty-six, he took his rage out on them. He smashed multiple mirrors to save his brother from Bloody Mary, laughing in the face of the hundreds of years of bad luck he had supposedly earned for himself by doing so. Those mirrors had been the only ones to show the truth. They showed the ugly side of people; all the secrets they hid and the demons that resided inside of them. He destroyed them so that he could destroy her, and so save his brother, but it wasn't enough. Sam was still haunted by the memory of Jessica and the belief that he had led her to her death. Dean continued to avoid mirrors, knowing that he would only see guilt and grief in his own eyes.

Now, he was twenty-eight. He stood in the bathroom of their motel in Newport, Vermont, and stared into the mirror. As always, he hated what he saw, but this time he hated the mirror for a different reason.

" _You're leaving, right? And I gotta stay here in this craphole of a world. Alone. So, the way I see it, if I'm gonna make it, if I'm gonna fight this war after you're gone, then I gotta change…into you. I gotta be more like you_."

The whole mess with the hex bag and feeling like he was about to throw up his intestines, then the thing with that demonic bitch, and the thing with the demonic witch, had all kind of forced that particular conversation out of his head, but now that the fight was over, Sam's hurtful words came back to him in full force.

Harsh. Unforgiving. Ruthless. Crazed. Those were the words he would have used to describe Sam's behaviour over the past couple of weeks, had Bobby called and asked. Now, he came to realize, he had apparently been describing the way Sam saw him. What kind of role model had he been to the kid, if _that_ was the way he saw him?

Did Sam really see him as some sort of killer? Someone who took no mercy on others? Sam had just been willing to walk in and blow away the coven of witches like they were a fly buzzing around his food.

The Yellow Eyed Demon's words came back to him. " _How certain are you that what you brought back is 100%, pure, Sam_?"

Dean tightened his grip on the ledge of the cabinet, watching as his fingers went from tan to red to white, refusing to look at himself again.

Sam was still Sam; that much, at least, was evidenced by his absolute determination to try and get Dean out of his deal. And yet, he wasn't Sam. He wasn't the little brother that Dean had tried so damn hard to protect. This was the version of Sam that had finally had enough. This Sam, Sam 2.0, had lost everything: his mother, his home, his education, his girlfriend, his father, and even his life for a brief moment in time. Now he was going to lose his brother. That had apparently been the final blow that caused that youthful hopefulness that Dean loved about his brother to die.

Dean looked up one last time and met his own gaze. He had done the right thing. He had balanced the scales, and by doing so, had ensured that the only decent part of his life would get to live on. Sam was scared and angry and sad. That was what was making him act like a nutjob. But if what he had said was true, and he was trying to turn himself into a version of Dean, well…

He threw a punch at the mirrored glass, shattering it and splitting his knuckles. He barely felt anything because Dean had never hated himself more than he did in that moment.

* * *

 **A/N:** See, I told you it wouldn't make you feel any better. That line about Sam wanting to become more like Dean always seemed like more of an insult than a compliment to me. Anyway, I hope you liked it! Please review, and I'll see you in the New Year!


	54. Drunken Conversations

**A/N:** Hi everybody, and Happy New Year! Here's hoping 2017 is one for the history books (in a good way, not in the way that 2016 was a shit show). Thanks to angellec, NightReader22, Tempermental18, Raose, Bjester74, SammysGirl42, Dragonsrule18, hollyhobbit101, lenail125, hectatess, waitingforAslan, shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod, celinenaville, and spnfanforlife for the fantastic reviews to the last chapter. It was really one of my favourites.

So, this one is tagged to 3x10, _Dream a Little Dream of Me_. A fantastic episode. An episode where I constantly marvel at the acting ability of our precious Jensen Ackles. That scene with Dream Demon Dean and Real Life Dean is just so awe inspiring, I couldn't touch it. I wanted to. Believe me, I wanted to. My idea was to go into it with a whole "Dean says he doesn't deserve the crap Dad puts on him" thing in mind, but I couldn't do it. So this is what I cooked up instead. Hope you all enjoy, and leave me a review to let me know what you think.

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing belongs to me. With the student loans I'm paying back, literally nothing belongs to me.

* * *

 **Drunken Conversations**

"There you are. What are you doing?" Finding Sam in a bar at two o'clock in the afternoon, obviously a couple of drinks in, was disconcerting to say the least. Sam wasn't a huge drinker. They shared a beer almost every night, but Sam rarely ever drank the hard stuff because of the way it made him feel. He was pretty much a lightweight when it came to whiskey and rye. Dean thought it was hilarious. Sam, on the other hand, thought it sucked. If there had been one thing he had been counting on when he grew to be taller than both his father and his brother, it had been the ability to out drink them both. Fit in with them when they started drinking and sharing stories. But two glasses of Jack in and Sam would be almost totally wasted.

Sam shrugged as he fingered his glass. "Having a drink," he replied nonchalantly.

"It's two in the afternoon. You're drinking whiskey?" Dean was worried. Sam hadn't been the same since before Christmas, not really. First, killing those demons in Ohio. Then, being willing to blow away those witches in Massachusetts. Dean knew that Sam was worried, but the kid was scaring him. He didn't know how to reach Sam when he got all emo. He had long been out of practice.

"I drink whiskey all the time," Sam muttered simply.

Dean wanted to shake him. "No, you don't."

"What's the big deal?" Sam asked, not meeting Dean's eyes. "You get sloppy in bars, you hit on chicks all the time. Why can't I?"

Dean looked around the bar, taking in the two other people who were desperate enough to get wasted at two o'clock in the afternoon. Sam's words stung. Yes, he did get drunk and go home with random girls every night. But he was dying. He would be dead by Sam's next birthday, and he was okay with that because it meant that his baby brother got to live. But Sam was so much better than him. Dean drank and hooked up with random chicks because, besides Sam, that was all he really had going for him. But Sam was so good, so smart. He _would_ be okay without Dean. He always had been. Sam didn't need Dean like Dean needed Sam. It hurt Dean to know it, but he knew it. He accepted it. What he didn't accept was his baby brother becoming some sort of bar fly in the middle of the afternoon. Still, he decided to play Sam's game and hope that his brother tripped up soon.

"It's kind of slim pickings around here…" Dean waited half a beat before turning back to Sam, already ready to throw the game. He didn't have the patience to deal with this crap. "What's going on with you?"

Sam shook his head and avoided eye contact with his brother, but Dean caught a glimpse of the heartbreaking loss in his brother's eyes. Dean felt his heart stutter. When would this cycle end? Sam would get that painful look in his eyes, Dean would feel like absolute crap for putting the look there with his deal, then Sam would get all teary eyed about ruining whatever time Dean had left.

Dean wouldn't apologize for doing what he did. He refused to. He _**needed**_ Sam to live. It was all that mattered. And it wasn't because of some ingrained muscle memory that had been developed over the course of his childhood. That was only part of it. Dean knew, deep down, that he didn't deserve the crap his father had laid on his shoulders. He didn't deserve to become a father at the age of four. He liked it, liked knowing that it was him and Sam against the world, but he knew he didn't deserve it. John had taken everything from Dean and poured it into Sam. Dean had done the same thing. Sam was the culmination of the best parts of John, Dean, and Mary. Dean couldn't let that die. But he needed Sam to stop moping about his upcoming appointment with Hell. If he didn't, well, Dean's deal to save Sam's life wouldn't mean much of anything.

"I tried, Dean," Sam's voice startled Dean out of his reverie.

Dean furrowed his brow in confusion. "To do what?"

"To save you."

Dean rolled his shoulders and settled himself into the barstool next to Sam. He didn't want to go near this subject with a ten-foot pole, but Sam wouldn't let it drop. For this, he would need a drink. "Can I get a whiskey? Double, neat."

The bartender nodded and went off to pour his drink.

"I'm serious, Dean."

Dean knew. Of course he knew. Why wouldn't Sam be as serious as an exorcism about this? But how could he even begin to tackle his brother's worries? He didn't know how. There was no " _It'll all be okay, Sammy_ " or " _We'll find a way to fix this_ ". Because if they did, Sam would die. And Dean couldn't live with that.

"No, you're drunk."

Sam took a shuddery breath, and Dean caught a glimpse of the tears welling up in Sam's eyes. Another thing Dean had never been okay with. Not only did the tears make him incredibly uncomfortable, they also meant that he had failed his brother in some way, shape, or form.

"I mean, where you're going…what you're gonna become…" Dean mentally cursed himself for telling Sam what that demon in Ohio had told him. He should've kept it locked up tight. Instead, he let his fears be known and it backfired on him. Sam barked out a laugh and shook his head. "I can't stop it. I'm starting to think maybe even Ruby can't stop it. But really? The thing is, no one can save you."

Dean smiled grimly, hoping against all hope that Sam had finally cottoned on to the whole 'welch-on-the-deal-you-die' thing. "What I've been telling you…" he replied coolly, taking a sip of his drink.

"No, that's not what I mean," Sam scoffed petulantly. "I mean, no one can save you, because you don't wanna be saved." Sam took a breath to steady himself and blink back the tears that were threatening to overflow. "I mean, how can you care so little about yourself?"

Dean considered Sam's question for a moment. He didn't think he cared too little about himself. He kept his body in pretty decent shape. He knew his limitations when it came to booze and broads. Hell, he'd even been known to skip burgers and pie every once in a while. He just knew that there were certain things in life that were more important than him. He threw his life on the line every single time he went out on a hunt. He was willing to get himself accidentally killed for any number of strangers. But when had he ever been willing to toe the line when it came to Sam? Yet the kid still didn't get it.

Dean allowed himself to smile. It was okay if Sam didn't get it. What wasn't okay was him attempting to get him out of the deal by threatening his own chances. But Dean would see to it that that never happened. He'd make sure of it.

* * *

 **A/N:** So, apparently drinking brothers is the best cure for financial blues. Those boys definitely perked me up. Thanks for reading and I'll see you guys next week!


	55. Panic

**A/N:** Hi everyone! Hope everyone had a good week. Thanks to Bjester74, Sallyannerenee, waitingforAslan, lenail125, NightReader22, hectatess, spnfanforlife, celinenaville, Tempermental18, and shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod for the awesome reviews, and for making my week even better.

So, I have a sneaky feeling that people have been waiting for this one. I know that 3x11, _Mystery Spot_ , is one of my all time favourite episodes, so I hope you all enjoy this one!

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

 **Panic**

Sam didn't stop driving until he hit Savannah, Georgia, which was still too close to Florida for his liking, but Dean would start getting suspicious if he kept going. His brother was already looking at him funny and was probably still pretty pissed that Sam had insisted on driving, so Sam swallowed the lump that was quickly forming in his throat, tensed his hands which had started shaking, and pulled into a Hampton Hotel in the middle of the city.

"Sammy, you feelin' alright?" Dean asked cautiously; the first words he had uttered since Sam had hugged him tightly in Broward County and insisted that there was no case in the entire state of Florida. "This is kinda outside our budget, little brother."

"It's fine, we'll just use Wedge Antille's credit card to foot the bill," Sam called as he slammed the driver's door closed and jogged into the lobby to get them a room for the night.

Key cards in hand, he hopped back into the Impala and slid smoothly into a parking spot, still not saying a word to his brother, even as he grabbed their duffles and led the way into the hotel.

Dean followed quietly behind him, so quietly that Sam glanced back once or twice to ensure that the past 12 hours hadn't been some sort of incredible djinn dream. He held the door open for his brother, then shut it tightly and automatically pulled out the salt from his bag to lay down the protective lines.

"Sammy?"

He looked up urgently, feeling his heart stutter and begin to beat faster. What was it? Fire in the room that devoured Dean like it had devoured Jess and Mom but went out right before it touched him? Spontaneous asthma attack? Rusty nail sticking out from the carpet that would slowly poison his brother over the course of the next 24 hours? "Yeah Dean?"

"Sammy, are you feelin' okay?" he asked worriedly. "You're acting a little…twitchy."

Sam forced out a laugh that was completely lacking humor. "Yeah Dean. I'm fine! How about you? Are you feeling okay? Nothing weird?"

Dean gave him a weird look. "You got a fever or something, man? You're acting as loopy as you were when you had strep throat and you thought your reflection was trying to kill you."

"I said I'm fine!" Sam snapped, grabbing his duffle and placing it on the small kitchen table. Seeing Dean make a move towards the beds, Sam bolted forward to snag the bed closest to the door.

"Dude!" Dean looked at Sam as though he had grown a second and third head. "How many Tuesdays did you have?"

"I told you, too many. But after we confronted the Trickster, he gave us a reset if we promised not to kill him. Then I woke up and it was Wednesday…"

Sam heard the dull roaring in his ears before he felt anything else. It sounded as though a thousand Impalas were driving up to the motel slowly, and as they approached they were sucking all the air out of the room. Sam struggled to expand his lungs, to take in that precious oxygen, but there was none left. All other thoughts in his mind were pushed out by that one, looming presence: Wednesday. Wednesday was the day that his life had ended. After over one hundred Tuesdays, that Wednesday came and numbed him. He cried himself out over Dean's body then went numb. He wished for that numbness again as pain shot through his chest. Black spots swam in front of him as he tried again and again to breathe.

Sam had suffered through a few panic attacks when he was younger. Dean's first hunt, his first hunt, his first day of high school, that first day of school after Dean had dropped out. He had one at Stanford before his first set of midterms that almost had him reaching for his phone and begging Dean to come save him, but he buckled down and suffered through by himself, believing that Dean wouldn't have come. Still, he hadn't had another one in a long time. His life with Jess had been more perfect than he could ever have imagined, and the two years following he'd been too busy to allow the anxiety to catch up to him. Plus, Dean's presence had been reassuring, like an old security blanket.

The six months without Dean had been a horrifying, emotionless drone onwards. Now, having him back, all the stress and worry and fear crept back up on him.

"Sammy…Sammy!" Dean's voice cut through the dull roar like a light in the darkness. Opening his eyes, Sam tried to become reacquainted with his surroundings. He must have gone to his knees sometime during the attack, because Dean had settled him back against the end of the bed. Dean was crouching next to him, one hand on his chest to measure his breathing and the other around his neck as a gesture of comfort. "Sammy? C'mon, kiddo! Talk to me! Breathe with me, Sammy. There ya go, that's good. Just like that. Come on, in and out."

Sam followed Dean's steady breathing until the drone went away and the black spots dissipated.

"Sorry," Sam whispered, throat sore from his gasps for oxygen.

"Sorry? Don't apologize, dude! What the Hell was that? I haven't seen you freak out like that in years, man!" Dean replied, eyes wide as he went to get Sam a bottle of water from the mini fridge.

Sam was already shaking his head. "Not…not for the panic attack. For…for getting angry at you."

Dean looked stunned as he quickly resumed his place by Sam's side, pressing the water bottle into his hand. "When the Hell were you mad at me?"

"When you…when you sold your soul…after Cold Oak. You told me not to be angry at you…but I was. But I get it now. So I'm sorry."

Dean shook his head. "Whatever, dude. You must've gone without oxygen for too long, because your brains are scrambled." Dean slung an arm around his midsection to help him up. "C'mon, let's get you to bed. Sleep off your Groundhog Day experience. You'll feel better in the morning." Dean unceremoniously rolled him into bed and yanked his boots from his feet. He tore the sheets from underneath Sam's body and threw them over top of his overgrown little brother. "Good night, bitch."

"Good night, jerk."

Sam listened to Dean putter around the room and get ready for bed. After the room had been silent for around ten minutes, Sam turned his head slightly to the left to look over at his brother. He did understand, finally, why Dean had been so quick to sell off his soul after Sam died. Sam knew he had been cold and heartless during those hated six months; some would even say he was soulless. He definitely got it now, after six months of that soul sucking pain. Sam would have sold his soul too because, without his brother, he really didn't have a soul of his own anyway.

* * *

 **A/N:** So, I know that was angsty and stuff, but I hope you all enjoyed it! Please review, and let me know what you thought! Have an awesome week, and I'll see you next week!


	56. A Few Good Men

**A/N:** Hi everyone! Hope you all had a good week. I want to start by thanking Idreamofivan, zekeschance, Sallyannerenee, lenail125, hollyhobbit101, JaniceC678, angellec, Bjester74, NightReader22, hectatess, Tempermental18, SammysGirl42, spnfanforlife, shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod, celinenaville, and waitingforAslan for the amazing reviews. I was really, really surprised by the overwhelmingly positive response to the last chapter. The reviews really warmed my heart.

So, this one is tagged to 3x12, _Jus in Bello_. Loved the episode, and I'm interested in hearing what you guys think of my chapter. So please review!

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

 **A Few Good Men**

Working as the secretary of the police station for the past six years, Nancy Fitzgerald fancied she knew the look of a dangerous man. Before she had moved to the small and peaceful town of Monument, Colorado, she had been in a much larger and much more dangerous city. Back then, there were dangerous people who seemed determined to shake up her calm and peaceful way of life. Despite her religious views, Nancy didn't like those people very much.

Sometimes, it was physical. They'd have the typical teardrop tattoos or wear shirts that said a word that a good Christian girl should never say, followed by 'the Cops'. They'd wear a lot of leather, and she could never spot them at the weekly service at her church.

That's not to say that Nancy was prejudiced against the people who looked like that. She often volunteered with the church outreach program and met with people who looked just like that and didn't have time to go to church. Oftentimes they had just finished their stint in prison, and were looking for a way to better their lives. Nancy never turned them away, and did her best to never make them feel bad about their appearance or their past. She knew she could not judge the evil in the world by appearance alone, as she knew that deep-seated evil often lay behind a fair façade.

Those were the people who scared her the most. The men who were dragged into her precinct, wearing fancy suits with Italian leather shoes, carrying photos of their perfect families in their wallets; those were the ones that terrified her. They acted so entitled, so cold and uncaring about whatever crime they had committed. Many times, their crimes were worse than those she judged by their outward appearance. They shot the man who was more successful than they were and acted as though it was the other man's fault; those men were the ones who attempted to…force…women, and killed them when they refused, then blamed the women because of the way they dressed or spoke or acted. Many would think that their small town in Colorado would not get many dangerous offenders, but they would be wrong. Yes, many of the men and women brought in were just lost, turning to drink and drugs and sex because they had lost the light, and therefore could not find the path that God had set them on. But those who came in with that leer in their eye, that nonchalant attitude towards their crime…they sent shivers up her spine. She had moved to Monument in an attempt to regain faith in humanity, and she had thought she had found it.

However, hearing what Agent Henrikson had said about those two fugitives had terrified her. "Satan-worshipping, nutbag killers" were his exact words. Mutilating corpses and digging up graves were not the actions of good, up-standing citizens. She had not even laid her eyes on them yet, and she believed they were dangerous, possibly the most dangerous people she had ever come across.

And yet, when those two supposed criminals were marched through the station towards the holding cells, Nancy realized that there was a difference between dangerous men and men who were dangerous _to her_. The two men who had just walked by her were dangerous, there was no doubt about it. The way they walked with such power, each step having a purpose and a meaning, formed a pit in her stomach, making her clutch at her rosary in fear. She hated working the night shift on principle, but she hated it even more knowing that her night would be spent with those two in the cells, not 50 feet away from her.

She watched as their eyes flashed across every surface of the station, as though they were mapping it for future reference. When the shorter one looked over at her, she could feel it in her bones. He had that hard glint to his eyes that all the most dangerous men she had seen come through the station inevitably had, but his green eyes softened when they met hers.

"We're not the ones you should be scared of, Nancy," he said gently as the two FBI agents dragged him and his partner into the back where the cells were.

She clutched at her rosary again, this time pensively. Usually, the men who were brought through, and even a few of the women, would come in and try to intimidate her by being crude and vulgar. But this one, this…Dean Winchester…he seemed almost…sweet. Caring. He wasn't blustering like this FBI Agent Henrikson and his partner. He wasn't leering at her like the majority of the town drunks when they inevitably passed through. He was genuinely trying to reassure her, but of what, she had no idea.

When everything started to go to pot, Nancy was overcome with confusion. The helicopter had exploded, the lights were flickering, and Agent Steven was dead without a scratch on him. It was her curiosity that made her go back into the holding cell area when everyone else's backs were turned. Agent Henrikson had promised to keep her safe and get her through whatever was happening. But he obviously had no clue as to what he was facing. Those boys somehow did.

When she got there, the shorter, handsome one was clutching at his shoulder and the taller one with the piercing eyes and the cute, floppy hair was anxiously tending to him.

"Hey…" the injured one, Dean, whispered quietly, nudging at his brother.

Sam turned and spotted her. "Hey…" She almost turned and fled back into the safe confines of her office, but resisted the urge. His eyes were so tinged with fear and sadness that she couldn't help herself. "Hey, uh, please. Please. We need your help. It's…it's Nancy. Nancy, right? Nancy, my…my brother's been shot. He's…He's bleeding really bad. You think maybe you could get us a towel? Please? Just one clean towel?" She clutched at her rosary again, still unsure as to whether or not she should trust either one of them. Still, there was something about them. Maybe it was their eyes. Or perhaps it was the way they seemed to be looking out for each other even while in lockup. "Look. Look at us. We're not the bad guys. I swear."

Nancy forced herself to break eye contact and walk away. She knew that even the most dangerous of men could be loyal to a fault. Clyde Barrow made constant trips back to Texas to visit his family, his brother pulled jobs with him, and he carried Bonnie everywhere they went after she got injured. Al Capone had been married to one woman for his entire life. These brothers were obviously loyal to one another. Nancy knew that it was supposedly Dean who had killed those people in St. Louis and then again in Milwaukee. She knew that Dean was the one who had been in trouble in Baltimore, but that Sam had refused to turn on his brother. They were loyal, that much was true. But Nancy couldn't see how a man as 'dangerous' as Sam could turn to her and openly plead for something to help his brother.

Determined, Nancy snagged a towel out of the staff bathroom and went back to the cells. Despite what Agent Henrikson said, she was a member of the law enforcement team in Monument, Colorado. She would not convict these men before they were set on trial. She believed in God and the law, and, at that moment, both were telling her that there was something incredibly special about the Winchester boys.

* * *

 **A/N:** So, there you have it. Everybody be good, and I will see you all on Tuesday! Have a good week everybody!


	57. One Last Ride

**A/N:** HAPPY DEAN DAY! As all of you know, our beloved Dean Winchester's birthday is today! Yay! So this chapter, tagged to episode 3x13, _Ghostfacers_ , is dedicated to the best big brother any of us could ever dream of. It's like the man said. "Thank you, Kripke, for creating the best imaginary friend I have ever known."

Thanks to Bjester74, spnfanforlife, Sallyannerenee, waitingforAslan, lenail25, SammysGirl42, Xeraphina Laurentia, NightReader22, arwenadreamer, celinenaville, hectatess, Tempermental18, and shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod for their wonderful reviews. They always brighten what tends to end up being a crappy week.

Oh, one more thing. In honor of Dean's birthday, I have a gift for you. I'm going back to twice a week updates! HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DEAN WINCHESTER!

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me. Even the quote above. Stole that from Jensen's twitter.

* * *

 **One Last Ride**

"Hey! What's got you looking like someone just killed your best friend?"

Sam repressed the urge to role his eyes and bite his tongue. It wouldn't do to remind Dean just what a poor choice of words he had used. Really, his best friend _was_ dying. Besides that very obvious fact, it was January 24th. Not only was it Dean's last birthday, leaving Sam in less than a celebratory mood and with nothing to give his brother to boot, that also meant that Dean only had 99 days left. Double digits. Sam couldn't wrap his mind around the idea that his brother would forever be 29 years old. Part of Sam refused to believe it, refused to even acknowledge the inkling of the idea that he could one day—if the grief and guilt and sorrow didn't kill him first—be older than his brother.

"It's nothing, Dean," he muttered sadly in reply, keeping his eyes on the stained ceiling.

"Yeah, sure. And I'm the Cowardly Lion." Dean smacked at his crossed legs, taking advantage of Sam's reflexive twitch to sit down on the end of his brother's bed. "So, c'mon! What's the big plan?"

"For what?" Sam winced at how cold and callous he sounded, but didn't let Dean see. He had caved and given him his precious Christmas, had actually enjoyed getting to spend one night just being brothers, but Sam knew he didn't have it in him to give Dean a birthday as well. Sam had forced himself to live through over 250 normal, non-holiday days with his dying brother, but had yet to have a single one without feeling that swell of his throat and the burning of his eyes that belied his underlying emotions. November 2nd had found Sam holed up in the motel bathroom, trying to fend off a panic attack and his crashing emotions while Dean was at a hunter's bar drinking his sorrows away. Thanksgiving had gone uncelebrated for both of their sakes, considering there was very little to be thankful for. Christmas had been a success by all accounts, but Sam didn't see how he could celebrate Dean's 29th and final birthday under the strain of knowing that Sam's own birthday would see the cessation of his brother's life.

"Come ON, dude! A man doesn't turn 29 every day! Don't tell me I have to plan my own bash!" At Sam's silence, Dean scoffed. "Fine. I'm thinkin' Vegas. Take all the cash we got from Bela, rent out one of those rooms, and get a whole gaggle of strippers. And pie. I hit it big; you're taken care of until you're so wrinkly that you look like that motel owner from Tampa. You remember her? Man, her wrinkles had wrinkles. Hell, we could even go to the Grand Canyon and do it properly this time. Not that quick ass donkey ride down the canyon so Dad could hunt that phooka; I'm talking a legitimate trip to the Canyon, so we can actually see the damn thing this time." Dean went silent for a moment. "I always thought we'd make Vegas an annual Winchester pilgrimage or somethin'. But we haven't done it since your eighteenth," he finally added in a quieter, more subdued voice. "Might be nice to take one last ride…"

Sam squeezed his eyes closed, ignoring the single tear that leaked out and thanked God that Dean was facing the other direction. Another thing he would never be able to make up to Dean. Vegas for his eighteenth birthday was one of his most treasured memories. Just him and his brother and a taste of that normal life he had so craved at that age. It was one of the last times before that huge fight with Dad that he had been genuinely happy.

Sam swallowed his anxiety and sat up in bed, surreptitiously wiping the lingering tear off his cheek. He cleared his throat once, praying that his voice wouldn't crack and make the situation even more emotionally unstable than it already was. "Anything but Vegas, man. Please? I'll do anything you want. Just not Vegas."

Dean nodded understandingly. He was well aware of the fact that the more his days dwindled, the more Sam became an emotional wreck. But the more Sam became an emotional wreck, the more Dean wanted to make it up to him. Christmas, Vegas, teaching him how to fix up the Impala when she got moody. Trips to the library and Bobby's, restaurants that didn't deep fry everything. He wanted to fill these last 99 days ( _Sam wasn't the only one counting_ ) with good memories so that Sam could look back and smile rather than be filled with the guilt that had been weighing him down since Wyoming.

Dean shifted on the bed, folding one leg underneath him to better balance himself, when he felt something digging into his knee. He dug his hand under the covers and pulled out Dad's old hunting journal. Dean shook his head, coming to the conclusion that Sam had probably been researching demon deals in the book while he had been taking a shower. Looking up at the calendar on the motel wall, Dean felt a grin spread across his face as he was hit with an idea.

"Anything, Sammy?" he teased.

Sam nodded sadly. Dean almost felt bad for taking advantage of the kid, but he only had a couple of months left, and he was going to use the Dead Man Walking card for as long as he could. This would not only satisfy his desire to get out of the motel and do something useful, but it would also give Sam something to remember. This was going to be legendary…

* * *

"Well, it's 12:04, Dean. You good? You happy?" Sam bitched as they attempted to get through the now sealed doors of the Morton house.

Dean, to his credit, didn't bother reminding Sam that this was technically his birthday present and his 'going away' present. "Yeah, I am happy." He was going to go down in hunting history as one of the guys who solved the mystery of the Morton house, he had his kid brother by his side, and they had even hit a diner that sold the most delicious blueberry pie he had ever tasted. If those stupid kids hadn't been there, he would've marked it down as one of his favourite memories.

""Let's go hunt the Morton house," you said. "It's our Grand Canyon."," Sam mocked, glaring angrily at the door.

Dean groaned. "Sam, I don't want to hear this," he attempted to protest, but his voice was lost against his brother's fury.

"You got two months left, Dean." Dean closed his eyes in a futile attempt to shield himself from the sadness in Sam's voice. "Instead, we're gonna die tonight."

Sam picked up a chair, smashed it against the sealed door, and stalked away, that Oak or Elm guy following with his ever-present camcorder, leaving Dean alone with his thoughts.

Dean knew he only had two months left. He knew. He didn't need a reminder. He could hear the ticking of the clock ringing in his ears. But he also knew that Sam wouldn't die at the Morton house. That's not how it was going to work. Dean would push Sam over the finish line of their last year together, whether he liked to or not. He didn't want to die. But he didn't know how to live with Sam dead, so the alternative was worse than any hellfire he could imagine. So he'd do what he always did. Save as many people as he could, fry as many fuglies as time allowed, and make sure Sam would be okay. It was his life's mission, and he wouldn't leave it unfinished.

* * *

 **A/N:** So...there you have it. I really hope you enjoyed this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. I also hope I tied together some strings that had been dangling in the show. Oh, and for those who are wondering a phooka is a pitch black being with glowing red eyes. Takes the shape of a horse, dog, or giant bird. It's part of Irish lore. Anyway. Please review to tell me what you thought! And I shall see you all on Friday!


	58. Not Alone

**A/N:** Happy Friday everyone! Hell of a week, and I'm glad it's weekend. Thanks to NightReader22, Sallyannerenee, lenail125, spnfanforlife, Dragonsrule18, hectatess, Guest, and Tempermental18 for making the week less demonic with their kinds words.

Okay, so this one is tagged to 3x14, _Long Distance Call_. A good episode, and it was definitely nice to hear the gravelly voice of JDM once more. I hope you guys enjoy this!

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

 **Not Alone**

Sam could count on one hand the amount of times Dean had admitted, completely sober and without being under duress, being legitimately, completely scared. It didn't happen very often. Usually blood loss or a concussion played into it, but even then getting Dean to open up was like trying to open a jar that had been rusted shut since the Stone Age.

Sam had managed it twice. Twice, in 25 years of being side by side almost every day. Once after a ghoul had almost turned Dean into its next meal. John and Sam had found Dean locked in an industrial freezer with no jacket, pale as a sheet, with cuts as far up as his elbows on both arms. John had just picked up his 13-year-old son and carried him out of the restaurant ( _which actually used 'the other white meat', which was just gross_ ), while Sam brought up the rear, keeping his eyes peeled for the thing that had hurt his big brother. It wasn't the first hunt Sam had been a part of, but the whole experience made him resolve to get out of the family business as quickly as humanly possible, especially once they had gotten Dean to the local hospital.

Leaving Dad to spin a wild story about how his oldest son ended up almost bled dry _and_ hypothermic, Sam stayed by his brother's side while the nurse hooked Dean up to the blood transfuser and covered him in a warm electrical blanket to get his heat back up. It had only taken a few minutes for Dean to open his eyes, and with blue-tinged lips utter those terrifying words.

" _I'm scared, Sammy…_ "

It had sent Sam reeling as though Dean had physically struck him. Part of his young brain knew that it was the blood loss talking, probably urged along by the hypothermia, but it was still his invincible big brother speaking the words, and that scared him more than anything. Dean had been the one to tell him about monsters on that fateful Christmas, but though he had done so hesitantly, he had also affirmed that nothing was going to happen to them. He had been on a dozen hunts himself, Dad had been on more, and neither of them would let Sam get hurt.

Sam couldn't process that at the moment. He saw only two situations. Situation A being him in the bed, frozen and dying because his brother and father were humans going up against inhuman things. Situation B was Dean lying in that very hospital bed, not because of his own mistake, but because of Sam's. Sam didn't know which one terrified him more, so he resolved to never hear those words come out of Dean's mouth again.

It worked for years, but Sam failed in his mission on that last hunt before Stanford. A couple of Black Dogs wreaking havoc in Maine. Or at least, that's what it was supposed to be. Black Dogs were on the simple side of the hunting spectrum. A regular bullet straight to the heart. Easy. Only it ended up being a couple of werewolves instead, meaning silver bullets instead of regular bullets, which they did not have because Dad had gotten his freaking research wrong. And who paid the price? Dean, as per freaking usual.

Dean had been at the rear of their little hunting party, therefore the first line of defense when the werewolves decided to sneak up on them. Dean had fired three shots into three chests before he realized that the red eyes he had been expecting were yellow, and his attackers were more human than wolf. Luckily, he had tripped and fallen down a steep hill before the wolves could get him. John, thankfully, had shoved Sam behind him and unloaded his handgun into the chests of the werewolves. It was the only time Sam had seen John's paranoia as a good thing, but his gratitude wore thin quickly when John began berating Dean about not being better prepared while they were still hauling the concussed 22-year-old up the cliff.

" _I was so scared, Sammy…_ " Dean had slurred to his brother during one of his nighttime checkups. " _If they got by me, you coulda been toast…Don't know what I woulda done…_ "

A week later, Sam had announced that he had gotten a full ride to Stanford and that he was leaving. He would argue until he was blue in the face that he was doing it because he wanted something more from life, but even he couldn't deny the small part of him that couldn't stand the constant fear that surrounded him. Fear for his life, fear for his brother's, even fear for his father's.

Sam couldn't stand to see his big brother succumb to his fears. He loved having Dean open up to him, made him feel special to be the only one Dean would talk to in such an honest way, but sometimes that honesty hurt more than he could say.

"I'm scared, Sam…I'm really scared," Dean choked out through the tears that were building in his eyes.

Sam felt a shudder go through him at those words. After all these months of Dean's careless attitude towards life, to have him open up as the clock was winding down was almost too much for Sam to handle.

"I know," he responded quietly, feeling tears well up in his eyes. " _I am too,_ " he wanted to add, but knew that this was not the time for self-indulgence. Dean needed him to be there, to be present for him, not to go on his own spiral of guilt and despair and "what-am-I-going-to-do-if-my-brother-dies?". Sam was going to fight until the last second to get his brother out of his deal, and if that didn't work, he would fight to bring him back from Hell. He wouldn't give up on his brother, but what's more, he wouldn't let his brother face his fears alone. He would be there right beside Dean the whole time. Dean had never left him alone; it was time he start doing the same.

* * *

 **A/N:** Last minute ending change and voila! I hope you all enjoyed! Please, please, please review! And if anyone wants to message me about the 250th episode of _Supernatural_ , I would happily talk about it with you! I will see you all next week. Keep on keeping on!


	59. Hope

**A/N:** Hehe. Hey guys. Umm...so I completely forgot it was Tuesday. I blame my best friend because she got me hooked on _Game of Thrones_ , and I've been watching it with _Supernatural_ -esque enthusiasm for the past week. So apologies for those who usually review at 11 p.m. EST when I usually update.

Thanks to Guest (x6), an, shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod, Dragonsrule18, Tempermental18, hectatess, Bjester74, spnfanforlife, and SammysGirl42 for the reviews. I read them right after watching the Red Wedding episode of _Game of Thrones_. Definitely gave me the pick-me-up that I needed, even if I was reading them through tears. To Guest, I just want to say THANK YOU for all of your wonderful reviews. I'm so glad you've been enjoying, and I truly hope that you enjoy this chapter as well as those to come.

So, this chapter is tagged to 3x15, _Time is on My Side_. Hope you all enjoy.

 **Disclaimer** : Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

 **Hope**

Sam stared down at the now filled in grave of Doctor Benton, unable to shake the feeling that he had done the wrong thing. It wasn't a feeling he was generally accustomed to, and not one that sat well with him. Dean was always the one going in guns blazing and asking questions later. Sam always researched the crap out of hunts and made sure he had all of his facts straight before heading into a hunt. Even then, if the target was at least half human, he gave them half a shot at explaining themselves. Like Lenore. He let her explain that she was a vegan vamp, so he let her go. Dean hadn't wanted to. He saw black and white, like he said. There was good and evil, and if the very thing that could save him was evil, then he wasn't going to touch it with a ten-foot pole. There were exceptions, of course, usually made for Sam whenever he got into one of his morally superior moods. Dean had let Lenore go, and he seemed to show genuine remorse for Madison's death. Sam was dead, so he made a deal with a demon to bring him back. But other than that, Dean saw the line and took no prisoners when it came to those who crossed it. Sometimes, Sam admired that. He liked that his brother knew the job, knew how to get it done, and didn't let the constant killing get him down. Other times, he hated it.

Staring down at the grave, still hearing Benton's muffled screams, Sam knew it was one of those times. He couldn't grasp why Dean wouldn't even bother hearing the man out. This was something that could potentially save Dean from damnation.

"Sammy, let's go!" Dean hollered, revving the Impala's engine to get his point across. "We're burning daylight!"

Sam sat silently in the passenger seat, focusing his eyes solely on the road ahead as Dean berated Bela for selling the Colt and not telling them the truth. He couldn't stand the thought that this may be the last time they rode together. Three weeks. Less than 21 days. Approximately 500 hours. 30219 minutes. 1813137 seconds. The very thought made Sam nauseated.

"Lilith? Why should I believe you?" Dean exclaimed. "This can't help you, Bela. Not now. Why are you telling me this?" Dean trailed off as he waited for Bela's explanation. Sam stared at him, noting the tension on his brother's face and the grim set of his mouth. Sam knew Bela was dying, that she had made a similar deal to Dean and that it was come due. It was the reason Dean was making the phone call instead of Sam. If they were still on the phone when midnight hit, Sam would get a free preview of what his life would sound like in three weeks.

Sam started as Dean sighed. "I'll see you in Hell."

Dean flipped the phone closed and tossed it in the backseat.

"Who's Lilith?" Sam asked quietly after they had watched midnight come and go. Sam wanted to feel bad for Bela, but couldn't find it within himself. Not only had the bitch shot him, he also had bigger worries on his mind.

Dean rubbed tiredly at his eyes, one hand on the wheel as they cruised down the empty road. "Nobody, Sam."

Sam felt himself begin to quake as the lump that had been ever-present for the past year rose in his throat. "Don't lie to me. Not when we've only got three weeks left. Who is Lilith?"

Dean groaned. "She's the demon that holds my contract," he muttered, drumming his fingers on the wheel.

"Okay, so—"

"No! No, Sam. We're not doing this," Dean erupted, slamming his hand down on the steering wheel.

"What!"

"We are not going after her!"

"Why not?"

"Because if I get within even 10 miles of her, she could see it as whelching on the deal! I do that, you're dead! Just like that!" Dean snapped his fingers to illustrate his point.

Sam clenched his teeth together painfully, trying to keep his emotions at bay. "Pull. Over."

"What?" Dean asked in a much calmer voice, surprised by the turn of events.

"Pull. Over. Now."

The Impala coasted onto the gravel side of the road. Sam had his seatbelt off and the door open before the car had even rolled to a stop, and he was halfway gone towards the open field in the distance before Dean could even pull the keys out of the ignition.

"Sam! Sammy!" Sam could hear Dean chasing after him, but he didn't care. If he couldn't solve his problems, he could sure as Hell run from them. According to Dad, it was something he was good at, after all. Sam made for the tree line like it was the first sight of land after weeks at sea, but Dean reached him first. All it took was a gentle touch on the arm, and Sam exploded.

"Why couldn't you have at least heard Benton out?"

"What are you—"

"No, Dean! This is my turn! I've done everything, _everything_ , you've asked me to do! I let you play the Dead Man Walking card on so many waitresses and cashiers and baristas that if this deal wasn't going to kill you, a venereal disease sure as Hell would! I stood by and watched you dick around at bars and pubs and restaurants. I didn't even complain when you decided to eat so many greasy burgers your face started to glow in the dark! We did Christmas! We celebrated your birthday! We hunted the Morton house! We even did this ridiculous zombie hunt! All I asked was that we would take down the demon holding your contract! You have three weeks left! We _finally_ have a name, and you won't even look for her! Why not?"

Dean looked down and rubbed his neck. "Sammy, I—"

"And don't even try with the whole whelching on the deal crap, okay! I don't care anymore! I—"

"Well I do!" Dean roared. Sam reeled back, but Dean advanced on him, jabbing a finger into his chest. "If you die, then what the Hell was all this for?"

"You'll be _alive_ , Dean! Doesn't that matter to you?" Sam saw the answer clearly written on Dean's face and he scoffed. "Well, you know what? Screw you and screw your no chick flick moments rule! I'm talking about this and you're going to shut the hell up and listen, alright?" For a moment, Dean looked so sad and lost that Sam felt his throat close, but he was resolved. His hands were shaking and he could feel his heart racing. He was so angry and hurt by his big brother's refusal to do anything to save his own life. "I—" Sam cleared his throat. "I don't know how to do this without you."

Dean sighed. "Yes you do."

All of a sudden, it was like they were in a different place at a different time. Standing outside the dorms, Jess upstairs waiting to see what Sam's decision would be. So he did the only thing he could think of. He followed his brother's lead, like he always had. "Yeah, well I don't want to." Sam felt the tears overflow without his permission, making him thankful that it was dark. "Dean, I never knew Mom, so maybe I shouldn't be allowed to miss her, but it doesn't change the fact that she was taken from me, from _us_. And maybe I was never as close to Dad as you were; that's as much my fault as it is his, I know that now. But I still feel his loss every day. Jess died. Sometimes I still see her, standing on the sidewalk or in a crowd. My life went up in smoke that day, but not all of it. The things that had always been constant in my life were still there. I guess what I'm trying to say is…I already lost Mom. And Dad. And Jess. Please, _please_ , don't make me lose you too."

Dean took a deep, shuddery breath that had Sam wondering if he wasn't the only one shedding tears in the middle of that wide open field under the stars. Sam waited on baited breath for Dean to respond, to show some signal that he had been listening, that he cared at all that his going to Hell would put his little brother in the ground.

"Okay Sammy…You win." Dean sounded so defeated that the victory rung hollow in Sam's chest, but it was a victory nonetheless. Sam would take it. "We'll try to find her, that's all I'm promising. We can go to the old hunting cabin by Bobby's and try to find Lilith. But if we can't, or if we don't have a bonafide way of killing the bitch, you stop this and let me go. Deal?"

Sam found himself nodding before he even considered it. He didn't want to spend the next three weeks lying to Dean, so getting him even half onboard was enough for him. He'd figure out the other half later. All he needed was one shot to take out Lilith and save his brother, and he wasn't going to throw it away.

* * *

 **A/N** **:** I always wondered how Dean told Sam about Lilith, and how Sam convinced Dean to track her down. Very curious these Winchesters. Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed! Please review to let me know what you thought. Have a good week, and I will see you all on Friday for part one of the heart-wrenching season finale/season premiere I have cooked up for you!


	60. A Living Nightmare

**A/N:** Happy Friday everybody! Almost forgot it was Friday, but I caught myself. Thanks to NightReader22, Sallyannerenee, waitingforAslan, lenail125, hectatess, CBrando89, Tempermental18, shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod, and spnfanforlife for making my week a little brighter.

So...this is the one we've all been waiting for. 3x16. _No Rest for the Wicked_. That's all I'm gonna say about that.

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

 **A Living Nightmare**

"… _The air was thick with acrid smoke. Lightning flashed against the crags and fissures in the unnaturally black stone walls; the only source of light within that dank, dark place. Chains hung in a crisscross pattern, attached to the menacing stonework façade._

 _A single man was strung up in the middle of it all. His shirt was torn and his pants were bloody. His socks and shoes offered no protection for his feet from the flames that, though lit thousands of feet below him, still burned with an intensity that left him cold inside. Barbed hooks had been thrust through the meaty part of his shoulders, the peaks of the sharpened ends poking out through his shoulder blades. Identical hooks were shoved through his feet, splintering the hundreds of delicate bones that resided within them. Live electrical wires were wrapped around his wrists and ankles, helping to keep the damned man suspended in the middle of that infernal pit._

 _Wild green eyes scanned the walls. No exit or entrance could be seen. He bared his teeth and groaned as another bolt of lightning struck the wires, electrifying him. No heart attack would come to save him from this electrocution. No savior was in sight. There was no way out._

 _Dean Winchester struggled against his bonds, ignoring the way his flesh ripped and sizzled against the metal restraining him._

 _Another bolt lit him up, and he could no longer hold back his scream of pain. He screamed for the one person who could make this all go away. He screamed for the only person who had ever woken him up when he had a nightmare. He screamed for the one person he had left behind, the one person he cared enough to purposely subject himself to such torture for._

 _The single word escaped his mouth. The sound of it would have raised the hair on the back of the neck of any living thing, if any living thing was around to hear it. It was a scream of agony, a scream of pleading for the one person who could make it all better. "SAM!"_

Sam jolted up in bed, knocking Ruby off his chest. His brother's screams echoing in his ears. The dream had looked and sounded so real, it was difficult to tell if it was actually a dream.

"Baby, go back to sleep," Ruby murmured sleepily. The sound of her voice sent a chill across his skin. What was he doing? This was the bitch who had promised to save Dean from the terror of Hell, but she had lied. She just wanted to get closer to Sam, and here he was, letting her, despite Dean's dying wish.

"Get out, Ruby," Sam whispered, pulling up his knees and wrapping his arms around them.

"What?" She sat up and fixed him with an icy glare.

"Just get out. This was a mistake. It was always a mistake." Sam stared out into the darkness of the room as she gathered her clothes, glared in his direction, flipped him off, and walked out, slamming the door behind her for good measure.

The dreams had been coming to him for weeks; always the same one. Dean, strung up in Hell, screaming for him. The constant barrage of images was enough to make a sane man lose his mind, and Sam Winchester was not a sane man, not now. Not when his brother was in Hell, and he couldn't tell the difference between reality and his dreams.

It wasn't just in his dreams that Sam could hear Dean's cries, either. He heard them when he looked into Ruby's eyes, and when he was sitting in the Impala, and when he was at the freaking supermarket. Dean's absence permeated every facet of Sam's existence, and it was driving him to drink and do all the things he knew he shouldn't do. Including Ruby.

Sam shook himself out of the chilly stupor he had worked himself into and moved into the bathroom to take a scalding shower. Feeling the water drip over his face and down his back, he couldn't help but wonder if that was what it was really like. Hell. Where his brother was. Because of him. Because he thought that saving other people was more important than living, even though his brother had made it perfectly clear that he would die with him if he was going to die at all.

Sam slammed his head into the cool tile of the shower wall, feeling the tears creep up on him again. It had already been two months since Dean had gotten ripped apart by the Hell Hounds while Lilith laughed at him, and Sam was no closer to finding a way to get his brother back. Ruby was…helping him, supposedly. Still, Sam knew that every day his brother wasn't with him was another day he had failed the brother who had sacrificed everything for him, including his life.

Sam clenched his eyes tight at the phantom sound hammering against his eardrums. This time, it wasn't Dean's scream, but the sound of a shovel scrapping against the ground.

 _Sam kept his eyes diligently away from the shrouded form of his brother five feet away from him as he dug the grave that would be the temporary shelter for his brother's body._

" _Sam…"_

 _With reflexes that belied his emotions and the copious amount of alcohol he had inhaled, he dropped the shovel and drew his pistol, turning it on Bobby with a slight tremble wracking his arm._

" _No, Bobby," he choked out. "No—nobody's burning my brother. H—he's coming back. I'm gonna get him back. I—I have to."_

" _Sam…"_

" _NO!"_

" _SAMMY!_ "

Sam wrenched his eyes open at the sound of his brother's cry.

He thought that he had understood Dean's decision to sell his soul after he had lived six months without Dean when the Trickster had tried to teach him a lesson, but he hadn't. He had only scrapped the surface of that particular pain. Dean had always seen Sam's safety as his responsibility. He had sold his soul to make sure that job was done correctly. Sam had sworn on everything he held dear that he was going to save Dean from damnation. Sam had failed, consistently.

Sam slammed his open hand down on the tap, shutting off the water. He felt determination take over the self-pity he had been feeling. He hadn't been able to save Dean from the Trickster without losing a part of himself. He would happily lose all of himself if it meant getting his brother out of Hell. Dean wouldn't like it, but that was beside the point. All that mattered was Dean being alive. Sam would deal with the consequences.

He climbed out of the shower and picked up his phone, scrolling to the number he needed.

"Ruby…Yeah, I know. I wasn't willing before, but I am now. Let's do it."

* * *

 **A/N:** So, there's the end of season 3. I still remember crying over the episode. I hope this didn't make you guys cry too much. Let me know what you thought, and I'll see you all on Tuesday for a much happier chapter! Love you!


	61. Warmth

**A/N:** Hi everyone! Hope you all had a good and restful weekend.Thanks to hollyhobbit101, Sallyannerenee, NightReader22, celinenaville, waitingforAslan, SammysGirl42, lenail125, DragonsRule18, hectatess, Tempermental18, shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod, spnfanforlife, and Beth Nottingham for their reviews. Not much else to say except that this one is tagged to 4x01, _Lazarus Rising_. Hope you all enjoy.

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

 **Warmth**

There are different kinds of warmth in life. There's the warmth of the sun on your face, or when you open the oven to check on the apple pie you're baking. There's the warmth of companionship between friends. There's the warmth of companionship between lovers. There's the warmth of family. There's a billion different types of warmth that any one person can encounter on any given day in their lifetime.

Dean had missed warmth. In Hell, he had experienced a heat so burning hot that it left him cold and shaking inside his cage. He'd been electrocuted, burned alive, had his skin melted off with a fire that burned purple, and had been slow-roasted, like a pig on a spit, over a fire that barely burned orange, but still seared his skin. Dean Winchester had burned in Hell, but did not feel its warmth. He missed the warmth of the Sun on his skin, and the warmth of the Impala's heaters blaring on his face. He missed the warmth that could only come when he was between a woman's legs. He missed those different types of warmth that regular human beings took for granted.

When he awoke in his cedar coffin, six feet under, he thought he was still in Hell. The cold was so similar to when he would be locked in his cage, shivering as though he had a third-degree burn that sucked all the warmth out of his body. He could barely feel the burn of his muscles as he broke through the wood and dug his way through the dirt, but he did feel the Sun kiss his face as he burst through and took his first breath in forty years.

The Sun burned against his skin, but Dean welcomed the sensation. It felt different, more real than the burning fires of Hell. That small yellow Sun burned at the perfect temperature to support life, while the various colored fires of Hell burned with the sole purpose of inflicting pain.

Dean relished in the burning of his skin and muscles as he walked to the gas station, and then to Bobby's house. It grounded him. It wasn't the heightened pain of Hell, nor was it the prominent memory of being ripped apart by Hell Hounds. The pain of his walk meant that his journey was almost over. He was going home, to Bobby and, more importantly, to Sam.

When he and Bobby got into the truck to drive to Pontiac, Illinois, Dean turned the heater up full blast and closed the windows. If Bobby thought it was odd, he didn't say anything. At first, Bobby couldn't tell if it was an aftereffect of Hell, or just plain nervous energy over seeing his kid brother again. The kid, or man as he probably should be calling him after his tour of Hell, could barely sit still, and if he wasn't in direct sunlight he started shivering like the dickens. Bobby tried to smile comfortingly over at him, but the look in Dean's eyes stopped him. He just looked so haunted, despite saying that he didn't remember anything from his trip down under.

When they pulled up at the Astoria Motel, Bobby was the one to get out and ask for "Wedge Antilles" room number, still completely baffled over Dean knowing exactly which alias Sam would be using. Dean was sitting in the exact same position he had been in when Bobby left him in the car, but he jumped out and led the way down the dingy hallway to room 207.

Dean looked so much like a lost little boy when he looked to Bobby for reassurance before knocking on the door that Bobby felt his heart melt a little. Dean had faced down four months in Hell, yet he looked more scared of facing his brother than anything else.

The random woman who opened the door was completely ignored when Sam came out of the bathroom.

"Heya Sammy." Dean's teeth didn't chatter with the cold, and he had stopped shaking for the first time. Sam's mere presence grounded him, centered him, and reminded him of who he was.

The next minute passed in a blur. Dean knew that Sam just accepting his reappearance wasn't going to fly, but he resented it still. A slight tremble shook his hand at the thought that Sam hadn't been the one to save him, but he pretended not to notice, especially when Sam grabbed him up into a hug, and he could feel Sam shaking too.

Dean closed his eyes, relishing in the warmth. He knew that this was his Sammy. The demon that tortured him while wearing Sam's face had never been able to mimic Sam's natural warmness. It was a warmth that exuded from Sam's very soul, and no demon would ever be able to steal that from his baby brother.

The fires of Hell had burned at over a thousand degrees, but none of them had been able to match his brother's warmth; it was like the Sun.

* * *

The motel rooms were too cold without Dean's energy to warm them up. Even Bobby's place didn't feel like home to Sam after he had held a shaking gun on Bobby and pleaded with him not to burn his big brother, because his big brother was coming back.

Home, to Sam, meant warmth. It meant the Sun shining through the window on early mornings, either in California or in whatever parking lot they had made their makeshift Winchester Motel in. It was the warmth of homemade cookies. Home was the sound of a brother's laugh, which was a far too uncommon a sound after the death of their father.

All the warmth that equaled home to Sam Winchester bled out with his brother in New Harmony, Indiana. After that, nothing could warm him up. He lived in a perpetual state of coldness.

At first, he tried to fight the frozen feeling with alcohol, the higher the proof, the better. Not only did the alcohol warm him from the inside out, it also permitted him to forget, at least briefly, why he was so cold. When he was mind-numbingly, staggeringly drunk, he could forget that the icy cold didn't only come from within him, but from that empty space at his side.

When the alcohol didn't work, he mixed it with fighting demons. Every single one of the sons of bitches who refused to bring his brother back were met with the pointy end of his knife. The alcohol warmed his insides, the blood of the demons dripping down his arms warmed his outsides. A temporary solution to his temporary problem, not unlike a single space heater attempting to warm an entire warehouse in the middle of January in Canada.

When his solution stopped working, he traded up for the lying demon bitch who had told him that she could save his brother. He knew he was trying to use her to fill a black hole within him. The intimate warmth he found within her was only a poor replica of what he had with Jessica, and the warm companionship he manufactured with her could not hold a candle to what he was missing with his big brother.

When he came out of the bathroom that cool day in September, he felt his heart stutter to a stop at the sight of Bobby and Dean at the door.

"Heya Sammy."

Sam acted on pure instinct, relishing in the heat that flooded his veins with his anger. Dean was the only one allowed to call him Sammy. Dean was dead. Sam had traded everything he had, including his integrity, to try to get him back. Dean couldn't be alive. He was supposed to be the one to save his brother. So he attacked, knowing that it couldn't be his brother at the door, despite how much he wanted it to be.

Bobby's words cut through the fire of his anger, and Sam froze.

"I know…I look fantastic."

It had to be Dean. Only Dean was stupid enough to make a joke at such a highly wrought emotional moment.

Sam wrapped Dean up in his arms, and pressed his chin down into the space between Dean's neck and shoulder, exactly where he had rested his head as a baby taking comfort in his big brother's arms.

It didn't matter that he wasn't the one to save Dean. He was there, and he was warm, and breathing, and alive. Sam shuddered in his brother's arms, feeling the last of that chill finally dissipate. He could finally start living again.

* * *

 **A/N:** Told you. Happier. Still angsty, but happier. Hope you all enjoyed! I will see you back here on Friday! Have a good week!


	62. Losses and Gains

**A/N:** Okay, so I know I'm updating a little earlier than usual, but there is method behind my madness. My computer is like 2 seconds away from crashing, and I know you guys deserve a new chapter, so I wanted to make sure it got out there in time. Also, I'm nursing a hell of a cold right now. Like, an 'I-can't-breathe' kinda cold. So I don't think I'll be making it to 11 when I usually update. Thanks to celinenaville, lenail125, Sallyannerenee, SammysGirl42, waitingforAslan, Xeraphina Laurentia, Bjester74, Dragonsrule18, Tempermental18, DearHart, NightReader22, hectatess, shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod, spnfanforlife, and Beth Nottingham for making me feel better.

This chapter is tagged to 4x02, _Are You There God? It's Me, Dean Winchester_.

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

 **Losses and Gains**

Bobby Singer kept a list of all the people he'd lost or gotten killed during a hunt. Karen, of course, came at the top of the long list. Rufus' wife and kids came next. Those two little girls, eaten alive by the Aswang he'd been hunting. Names of dozens of people he hadn't been able to save because he was too slow or too stupid to keep them safe. Hell, he'd even put John Winchester on the list, because he damn sure thought that he should've seen John's deal coming a mile away.

Seeing them again was almost too much, but he bore the brunt of their anger, knowing that he had failed them and owning it. It helped that he understood why they were there, haunting him, but it didn't help to know that they were right.

* * *

Dean didn't need a list. He could see their faces, hundreds of them, floating behind his eyelids when he tried to go to sleep.

Mom. Even though he was just a little boy, he could still hear her some nights, saying that if he had been faster at getting Sammy out, then maybe Daddy could have saved her. Sam didn't know that Dean had caught a glimpse of her, pinned to that ceiling with her mouth open in a silent scream. Nobody knew. Only Dad, who hadn't done anything to comfort his four-year-old, only claimed that the thing that took Mommy would have done the same thing to Sammy. He could hear the words echoing in his mind on particularly bad nights.

Dad's blood was on his hands too. He'd been so desperate to keep his family together that he had convinced Sam not to kill the Demon while he was wearing Dad's skin, yet he had lost his Dad anyway. Part of him even blamed himself for the car accident that had made it 'necessary' for John to trade his life for that of his son. Sure, Sammy was the one driving, and Dad was the one arguing with him, but Dean should've seen that Mac truck coming from a mile away. If he'd only been stronger against Yellow Eyes' attack against him, he wouldn't have been in such rough shape, and Dad wouldn't have had to bargain for his life. His Dad's death haunted him, especially now that he was fresh from his tour of Hell. He knew what was down there, knew first-hand what his father had been subjected to. His father's disappointment in him was near tangible even on his best days, now, after a string of 139 bad Hell days, it was like John Winchester's ghost was standing over him, breathing down his neck, and making him feel everything he had locked away as soon as he broke through the soil barrier keeping him from fresh air.

Caleb and Pastor Jim, also ties to his past who were now dead because of his stupidity. They should've been smarter while dealing with Meg. Should've assumed she was a demon, and taken her out the proper way. If they had, two hunting legends would still be alive.

Layla and Marshall Hall, dead because of his selfishness. All because he'd wanted to live, despite what he'd said to Sam. He didn't want to die not knowing where his father was. Didn't want to leave the planet without knowing that Sam would be okay without Jessica.

Jessica haunted him too. Not only the Jess that he had spent approximately five seconds with in Sam's apartment, but the Jess from the Djinn dream, claiming that Sam would have been happier if he had just stayed with them. They floated in front of him when he was half in the bag, reminding him of the havoc he left in his wake.

The worst ones, however, were the ones that had no names. Every victim they examined when they first stumbled onto a case, every victim they lost while on a case, every innocent person who had been changed by a vampire or werewolf because he hadn't gotten there in time. The hundreds of souls that were in Hell with him. Hundreds of victims who didn't stand a chance against what was out there, and he couldn't save them.

It tore him apart inside, knowing that people were dying because he wasn't doing his damn job fast enough, smart enough, well enough. He was supposed to be one of the last lines of defense against the supernatural SOBs who came knocking, and he was failing at it.

Getting his ass handed to him by Henrikson and Ron was the least he deserved, in his opinion.

* * *

Sam didn't have a list, and he wasn't haunted by the deaths that surrounded him. Yes, they sucked, but he knew they were all part of the job. Could they have been avoided? Perhaps, but it didn't do to dwell on what ifs.

Sam had four supernatural deaths that woke him up at night, tore at his brain and his heart until he felt like there was nothing left.

His mother, who he did not know, but felt her loss more for the sake of his brother and father and for what might have been.

His father, who had been faced with an impossible decision and chosen correctly.

Jess. Dear, sweet, beautiful Jess, who had nothing to do with the supernatural world and should have remained pure and innocent. Who would have lived to a ripe old age if Sam hadn't run away and allowed himself to revel in a fantasy life.

Dean's death weighed so heavily on his mind that he had found himself having Lady Macbeth moments in the weeks following Dean's burial. He would catch sight of his hands in a mirror or reflection and see them covered in blood, Dean's blood. The blood of the big brother he could not save, who had gotten ripped apart while he was pinned there, helpless. Just as Dean's phantom screams haunted his life, so did the visions of his hands covered in blood.

In the end, the ghosts of those they had failed may have broken something inside of Bobby, may have fueled Dean's need to atone for whatever sins he may have committed in Hell, but they did not bother Sam. The one death that had torn him apart inside had been rectified. He had his brother back; he could live with everything else.

* * *

 **A/N:** So there you have it. Please review so I know what you think. Love you all so much and I will see you next week.


	63. Powerless

**A/N:** Hey y'all. Thanks for all your well wishes last week! My computer pulled through, but it was a rough and long night trying to save it. As for my own health, I've got both laryngitis and a sinus infection. Basically, I'm as miserable as Dean without Baby. Thanks to waitingforAslan, shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod, NightReader22, Xeraphina Laurentia, Dragonsrule18, hectatess, Tempermental18, Beth Nottingham, spnfanforlife, and SammysGirl42 for all the awesome reviews and for all your positive thoughts. It means a lot to know I've got all of you around me!

So, this one is tagged to 4x03, _In the Beginning_. Love this episode, and I absolutely adore Matt Cohen. And the title for the chapter comes from the musical _In the Heights_ by Lin-Manuel Miranda. Hope you like my take on it!

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

 **Powerless**

" _Your brother's not looking for you…_ "

Yeah, right. Sam's not looking for him. That's like saying that John Winchester wasn't a stubborn sonofabitch, or that Bill Goldberg wasn't the best wrestler, or that the sky wasn't blue. There are some things in this world that are a given, and for Dean Winchester, one of them was that his baby brother would always come looking for him.

Besides, that winged asshole had been talking in riddles all day. He had basically stopped trusting the angel the second " _You have to stop it_ " turned into " _You couldn't have stopped it_." Seriously? Who says crap like that? Who gives orders that can't be followed? John Winchester did, if his final order was anything to go by. But an 'Angel'? Dean thought they were supposed to be girly looking, feathered children, not douchy looking banker types. He thought they were supposed to bring "tidings of great joy", like Linus said in the Peanuts Christmas flick, not lie through their teeth.

Dean barked out a laugh as he pressed his foot down harder on the gas, relishing in the feeling of having his best girl revving beneath him again. Sam not looking for him…a hilarious idea. Still, Dean felt a tendril of fear snake down his spine. What if Sam wasn't looking for him? What if that dick with wings was right, and Sam had just snuck off because he didn't want to be burdened with his shaky, Hell-seasoned, freshly reborn big brother? What if Sam had relished in his newfound independence? It was what he had always wanted, after all. Sam liked being away from his family, liked not having to hunt. Or maybe he just knew what Dean had done in Hell. Maybe he didn't want to be around that kind of…evil.

Dean gritted his teeth and revved the engine harder as he struggled to push the memories of Hell aside. No. No, Sam was looking for him. Just because Sam hadn't been the one to drag his ass out of the Pit, doesn't mean that Sam wasn't tearing up this whole Podunk town, trying to find his brother after some angel decided it would be a good idea to zap his ass back in time to try to save his parents…

God, his parents. His heart clenched just thinking about them. His Dad, so young and friendly and…hopeful. So quick with a grin and eager to help others. At least that last part hadn't changed. Dad always had put others above his boys. But to see his Dad at his own age, so free from the lines of grief that had so heavily weighed on his face, making him seem older than he actually was, was something that opened Dean's eyes. That John, the John from 1973, was so much closer to the John he had known up until the age of 4. A happy man, not without his demons, but completely able to keep them at bay, with the help of a young blond with green eyes and a mean fighting stance.

Dean's chest hurt just thinking about his Mom. She had been so close to him. She'd been so young. She'd had no idea what laid in store for her. Dean had hoped with all his heart that she would remember his warning, but knew he was hoping against all hope. He couldn't have stopped it, no matter how badly he wanted to. No matter how much Castiel had convinced him that he could. Mom had made that deal with Azazel. If she hadn't, neither he nor Sam would have ever been born.

Still, Dean couldn't bring himself to be mad at his mother. She had made the deal to save the man she loved, to ensure her future outside of hunting. Dean had sacrificed himself to save Sam, the only part of his life that he considered worth saving. Like mother, like son. So Dean found he couldn't be angry with his mother for thoughtlessly trading her youngest son for the life of her husband, no matter how much he wanted to be.

Still, he had so much that he wanted to share with Sam. The kid had been a non-stop barrage of questions about their mother ever since he had learned with a mother was. Mom, a hunter? Mom, the whole reason their lives had been turned upside down all those years ago? Sammy would have a field day!

Dean pushed the Impala a little harder in his eagerness to share. Finally, memories of Mom that wouldn't sting like Holy Water in a werewolf wound. Mom before she was Mom. Sam was lucky he was in a good mood, despite not being able to save his family from the demon deal that had ultimately wrecked them all. They could spring for a couple of burgers, maybe even a salad for his rabbit food-loving brother. They could sit back and talk, like they used to. Before campus dorm fires, freaky visions, demon viruses, car crashes, and demon deals, when they remembered how to sit back and just be brothers. And now, Dean would have new stuff to talk about. It wouldn't be the same rehashing of old stories. He could talk about how Dad had bought him a cup of coffee, not a beer. He could gripe at Sam as he laughed about their Mom kicking his ass in three seconds flat. He could talk about their grandparents, for cryin' out loud!

Dean felt like his world was spinning as he parked the Impala in front of the old abandoned warehouse. He inwardly chuckled at the idea of gigantor Sammy sitting with his knees around his ears in that tiny little yellow car, and set a mental reminder for himself to reteach Sam how to jack a car.

He strode happily towards the door, shaking off the instinct that something wasn't right, ignoring the sinking feeling that came with the question ' _Why would Sammy look for me here?_ '. He walked up to the door, made to open it, and paused. It was open a crack. He peeked through, and his world stopped. He felt powerless as the ground nearly slipped out from beneath his feet. His brain could not comprehend what he was seeing. Where was Sam? Where was Sammy? Because the man in front of him, pulling black smoke from a struggling body with no more than his mind? That was not Sam. It couldn't be.

* * *

 **A/N:** There you go, gang. Hope you enjoyed it. I know it bleeds in a little to 4x04, _Metamorphosis_ , but don't worry, the chapter for that one is way different. Hope you guys have an excellent week, and I will see you on Friday!


	64. Desperation

**A/N:** Hi everyone. I know; another early update. Sorry, but I'm exhausted. My plague has turned into bronchitis and I just want to sleep. Anyway. Thanks to bagelcat1 (x12), Sallyannerenne, Dragonsrule18, NightReader22, hectatess, Tempermental18, shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod, spnfanforlife, and Beth Nottingham for the amazing reviews. They really are the best medicine I could ask for.

So, this chapter begins basically right after the last chapter ends, and is tagged to episode 4x04, _Metamorphosis._ Hope you enjoy it. Please leave me a review when you're done so I know how I did!

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

 **Desperation**

Desperation. It's not a fun feeling. It forms this lump in your throat that makes it difficult to explain why you're desperate. It causes your heart to beat so fast you're pretty sure a vamp the next county over can hear it loud as a bell, and it makes your hands shake, and your eyes well up with tears because if you don't get the point you so desperately need to get across, you'll lose everything.

Sam hated feeling desperate. Despised it, even. But the feeling had been there, shaking his hands and quickening his heart and tearing up his eyes ever since his brother had crawled out of his grave, and he had made the decision to keep Dean in the dark about everything he had been up to in the past four months.

It wasn't that he was ashamed of what he was doing, per say. He liked knowing that he was taking this curse that he'd had since he was six months old and turning it into something that could save lives. Ashamed of the means? Yes, definitely, absolutely. But the ends were worth it. He could save people from being possessed _and_ he could avenge Dean, make sure that nobody had to lose somebody they loved to another demon deal ever again.

But when he saw Dean standing at the door of his motel room, solid and warm and present, he knew he couldn't tell him the truth. He couldn't say, " _Yeah man, I started using the demon powers you actually_ _ **begged**_ _me not to use because Ruby says they'll help me get to Lilith…Yeah, I know you're back now, but I'd still like to wipe her off the map, especially so she can't try to throw you back in Hell even after a supposed angel of the Lord pulled you out._ " He knew exactly what he would see in Dean's eyes if he said that.

Anger. Anger at his final request being ignored. Anger over being lied to since September. Anger that Sam was doing something dangerous, and putting himself in harm's way to try to protect him even after he was back. He didn't want to anger Dean, not after he'd sold his soul for him, gone to Hell, crawled out of a grave, and automatically went to find Sam. His brother was as loyal as a Labrador, but had the anger of a poorly trained Pitbull. He didn't want to be bitten. He wanted to keep the peace.

He'd also see sadness. Dean would look at him with those sad eyes that read _disappointment_ and _nostalgia_ all at the same time. Dean would be sad that Sam was different, sad that he had found a way to do the job without him, sad that his word evidently meant so little to his little brother. He'd be disappointed because he thought that he had raised Sam better than to ever trust a demon or a demon-given gift. He'd see all the self-worth issues that had caused this whole mess in the first place, and his heart would ache for his big brother who obviously couldn't see that he wasn't using his powers against Dean, but _**for him**_.

Sam knew he'd hit the nail on the head when Dean came back from a night of drinking and sleeping in the Impala, only to grab his stuff and make for the door.

"You don't need me. You and Ruby go fight demons _._ "

Dean couldn't see how wrong he was.

" _No!_ " Sam wanted to shout. " _No, don't go, please! I just got you back! Please Dean! Please don't leave me again!_ "

But he couldn't. Dean hated the powers, hated that his little brother had something so scary inside of him. He wouldn't understand, wouldn't accept, that Sam was using his powers to protect Dean. Dean believed that being the big brother meant standing in front of Sam and taking all the hits for him. He wouldn't let Sam be the shield, using his powers to protect Dean and everyone else around him.

"If I didn't know you, I would want to hunt you _._ "

Sam's eyes welled up with tears at that, partly because it hurt, but also because it was the truth. Hell, it hurt because it was the truth.

Everything Dean said was true, except the part about Sam not needing him anymore. He was off the reservation, but he was only doing what he was doing because he had been so lost without his big brother to show him the way. He didn't know how to function knowing that his brother was no longer walking around, larger than life. In Stanford, he'd known that Dean was still out there, alive and breathing. But then, Dean was gone, but Sam still knew that it was his fault that he was gone, and he knew about the demon blood, and he knew that his own father had wanted him dead. He had been desperate to find something to help him live again, a crutch to make the burden of life without his brother more bearable. Now, his brother was back but he still needed the crutch because he never wanted to feel that kind of pain ever again.

That pain, the pain that nearly crippled him, was what Jack Montgomery was threatening him with when he locked Sam in that closet. Though Sam had been desperate to prove, not only to Dean but to himself, that just because someone had the potential to go evil, it didn't mean they would, he was more than desperate to keep Dean by his side. Nobody, _nobody_ , would take Dean away from him again. Not this 'Angel of the Lord' ( _who had apparently already taken Dean from his side in a trip to the past_ ), not Jack Montgomery ( _who was reduced to a scorch mark on the carpet for his efforts_ ), not even Sam himself would do anything to risk Dean leaving him again.

So, he promised that he wouldn't use his 'powers' anymore. He claimed that it was his choice and that he wasn't doing it for anyone other than himself, but he knew that his claim was only half-true. If these powers were going to drive Dean away, he would shut them down. He wasn't going to lose Dean. Not again.

* * *

 **A/N:** Wow. Depressing. I told you season 4 would get heavy. No lie, even the thought of season 4 causes a pit to form in my stomach because of how twisted around the boys get. The next 20 odd chapters are gonna be heavy, just a heads up. And with that lovely thought, I bid you adieu. Have a good weekend. See you on Tuesday.


	65. Blockbuster

**A/N:** Hello loyal readers and friends! I want to thank you all for your well wishes and positive thoughts over the past week or so. Hopefully, I'm on the mend. A special thanks to Sallyannerenne, Dragonsrule18, waitingforAslan, Bjester74, NightReader22, hectatess, Beth Nottingham, Tempermental18, shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod, celinenaville, and spnfanforlife for the wonderful reviews and all the extra conversation that goes along with them.

So, this one is definitely on the happier side, in my opinion (which is weird writing right now because I'm still bawling my eyes out from _This Is Us_ ). Tagged to 4x04, _Monster Movie_. Loved this episode, with its oddball humor and 'black and white' theme. Felt so old school. Anyway, let me know what you thought in a review, please!

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me. Literally everything in this chapter belongs to someone else, except the words.

* * *

 **Blockbuster**

" _We still gotta see the new Raiders movie!"_

" _Saw it."_

" _Without me?"_

" _You were in Hell."_

" _Well that's no excuse!"_

Dean Winchester was an expert on many things. What made the Impala tick. What made girls melt. Fuglies and how to kill them. His brother, Sam, of course. And movies. Dean Winchester loved movies. He didn't get to see very many growing up, but those he did were always a treat.

He was a huge fan of the big, blockbuster film sagas. His father always made sure they got to see the latest installment, especially when either of his boys would use the " _You can't leave a job unfinished_ " logic on him. So, they saw them all. They saw _Phantom Menace_ in a small theater outside of Wisconsin on opening night as a late treat for Sammy's birthday. They saw _Star Trek: Generations_ in Florida after a nasty water sprite left all the Winchesters more than a little waterlogged. _Terminator 2_ was a treat for Dean after graduating from the eighth grade. _The Lost World: Jurassic Park_ was taken in by just the boys when Dean was laid up with a concussion and Sam had argued his way into sticking back at the motel, while _Jurassic Park 3_ was the last non-work related thing that the Three Winchester Men did together before Sam went to college.

But the _Indiana Jones_ series was one of Dean's favourites. One of Dean's earliest memories was sneaking downstairs after bedtime to sit in his father's lap and watch _Raiders of the Lost Ark_. He remembered going to see _Temple of Doom_ with his father while Sam was being watched by the motel owner's daughter. One last taste of normal before his hunting training started. Bobby had rented _The Last Crusade_ one night while the Winchesters had the flu and were camping out on his couch while their Daddy slunk away to hunt who knows what in who knows where. When Dean had found out about the fourth installment in the early months of 2007, he'd been stoked. Despite the Gifted Children, and Dad's death, and the fact that Yellow Eyes was still out there, he'd been genuinely excited to see that Indy, at least, wasn't throwing in the towel just yet. But then Sam was dead, and they were chasing Lilith, and _The Kingdom of the Crystal Skull_ was the last thing on Dean's mind.

Sam honestly hadn't thought that Dean would even remember that the latest and not-so-greatest Indiana Jones movie had come out. He knew that something was bugging his brother; his nightmares were coming on a nightly basis and he knew that the fact that he'd been using his demon blood powers still ticked Dean off from time to time, so he figured that the movie would be the last thing on his mind. But when Dean brought it up like that, off-the-cuff and so sure of the knowledge that _of course_ his brother wouldn't go see the last _Raiders_ movie without him, Sam felt himself sink lower.

He'd only gone to try to regain his grasp on reality. After crying himself dry over his brother, then over his brother's grave, then over the fact that he had held a gun on the only remaining member of his family, he'd spent his days drunk, lonely, and confused. But when Luis, Becky, and Zach had called him and asked if he wanted to go see a movie with them when he was in California, he'd jumped at the chance to feel normal again, to pretend that it was just another day at school. Sitting in that dimmed theater with his friends from what felt like a million years ago, he could pretend that Jess couldn't come because she was volunteering at the hospital, and that Dean and Dad were on a hunt, and that he couldn't join them for a drink after because he had classes in the morning. But when the lights came back up and Sam felt that his face was wet with tears, he'd known it was a bad idea, and promptly left.

Having his friends from school ask why Dean wasn't there with him obviously hadn't helped his emotional stability, but the premise? Indiana Jones fighting to return the Crystal Skull before his friend went crazy, with the help of his long-lost son? Never before had a character reminded him so much of someone in his personal life, someone who was so dedicated to family and friends. Someone who was long gone.

After that, Sam avoided his friends, both pre- and post-Stanford. He avoided the movies too. He couldn't bear the ghost of the comments that Dean would inevitably have thrown in while they took in the latest blockbuster hit.

" _Dude, Downey is_ _ **actually**_ _a kick-ass Iron Man!_ "

" _Who the_ _ **Hell**_ _thought it was a good idea to cast Edward Norton as the Hulk?_ "

" _Holy crap, dude!_ _ **Now**_ _I get the creepy clown thing! Heath Ledger was a total whackjob in that!_ "

" _I don't care how historically inaccurate it was, Sammy! Jet-Li as a freaking_ _ **mummy**_ _? Badass! Rachel Weisz was way hotter than that new chick though._ "

Dean's loss had weighed on him every second of every day, until he found a way to lessen the burden and turn the tides in his favor. After teaming up with Ruby, it became easier to breathe, though he still woke to Dean's screams at night, and he still couldn't watch any show or movie that was a staple in their childhood. Hell, the only reason he'd put his mp3 player in the Impala was because it was too painful to listen to the classic rock that Dean had always blared at annoyingly loud levels.

But now, Dean was back, and Sam was slowly realizing that by avoiding everything his brother had loved, he was only freezing out the memories of the things that he and Dean had done together. A defense mechanism that was no longer needed.

Sam yanked himself out of his thoughts as he left the Oktoberfest fairgrounds and headed back to the motel, leaving Dean in his wake to lose his born-again virginity. He knew that a drug store was close by, and he had a couple of crisp twenties sitting in his wallet. It had been too long since they had had a Winchester Movie Night, as there had been so little to actually celebrate in the past few years. But Sam knew that this was one of the greatest celebrations of his life. Dean was alive, and the demons and the angels and Lilith could wait.

* * *

 **A/N:** It's amazing how much research I actually had to do for this chapter. Yes, _Iron Man_ , _The Incredible Hulk_ , _The Dark Knight_ , and _The Mummy: Tomb of the Dragon Emperor_ all came out between May 2nd and September 18th, 2008. Man, do I feel old right now. Oh well. I'm gonna hit the sack like the old lady that I am, and I shall see you all on Friday! Bon nuit, mes amis!


	66. Empathy

**A/N:** Hi guys! Hope you all had a good week! I have a slightly different explanation for my early update tonight. My faithful laptop finally crapped out on me earlier today, so I got a new one. Luckily, they're going to transfer all my stuff from my old one to my new one, so I won't lose any of my writing. But because I'm using my mom's laptop right now, and because I'm still exhausted from my illness, I'm updating earlier than I'd like. Hope you guys don't mind!

Thanks to Guest, SammysGirl42 (x2), waitingforAslan, Sallyannerenee, Guest, Dragonsrule18, NightReader22, hectatess, Tempermental18, celinenaville, spnfanforlife, and shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod for the reviews!

So, this chapter is tagged to episode 4x06, _Yellow Fever_. Thanks to celinenaville for the assist on this chapter! It was super helpful. Hope you all enjoy! Please review to let me know what you thought about the chapter, or even what you thought about the last episode of _Supernatural_!

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

 **Empathy**

Sam sat behind the wheel of the Impala, drumming his fingers as he waited for the light to turn from red to green.

"Bobby, you keep staring at me like I'm going to disappear. What?"

Bobby peered over at him from the passenger seat. "You call Dean?"

Sam furrowed his brow in response. "No. Why?"

Bobby fixed him with a quizzical look. "You ain't worried that he keeled over while we were out here gankin' Casper? From what you told me, the other guys who got hit by the ghost sickness are already ten toes up."

"Dean's fine. He doesn't scare that easily," Sam replied with a forced calmness in his voice. It wouldn't do to freak out now. He'd done the job, gotten rid of the ghost. Chalk another one up for the good guys.

"Well, yeah. Maybe before," Bobby agreed slowly. "But lately Dean hasn't exactly been acting like Dean. Two years ago, the only thing that scared him was the idea that somethin' bad was gonna happen to you. Now though, he's always on edge. Like something's eating at him."

"He just got back from HELL, Bobby. He's got angels messing with his mind about the Apocalypse. Maybe he's got the right to be a little jumpy." Sam pressed his foot down a little too hard on the gas as the light finally changed, forcing the car forward with a growl. "If you're so worried about him, why don't you call him?" Sam snapped.

He felt more than saw Bobby glare at him. "Well, I thought that maybe the calming presence of his little brother might soothe his nerves better than I could. But what could I know?"

Sam clenched his eyes shut for a moment, trying to reel back his anger. He'd been testier lately, he wasn't denying that. He knew why. But he did his best not to direct his anger at his brother or his uncle. But this line of questioning was starting to wear on his last nerve.

"Well, what do you want me to do, Bobby? Pull over, call Dean, and cry if he doesn't answer? Or, even better, cry if he does? How is that gonna fix anything?"

"What the Hell needs to be fixed, Sam? Yeah, bodies got dropped, but that's part of the job. But if you called Dean and made sure he's okay, I'm sure that would make him feel better!"

"Okay, and what about me, Bobby?" Sam shouted, immediately hating how whiny and selfish the words sounded coming out of his mouth. "What happens to me if I call and he doesn't pick up? What happens if we get back to the motel and I find out that my brother, who already got resurrected once, is dead from a heart attack? What am I supposed to do if that happens?" Sam took a deep, shuddery breath as he tried to rein everything back in. Feelings that he had been struggling with since September were now out there in the open, for Bobby to know and understand and judge him on.

"Sam…"

"I…I just can't lose him again, Bobby. Not after getting him back. But…but I also can't afford to think that way. If I keep thinking of what might happen, I'm gonna lose it. I can't afford to be—" Sam's breath caught in his throat at the look on Bobby's face.

Pity. He hated it. He didn't want to be pitied. Yes, he'd lost his brother and it had sent him into a tailspin nosedive the likes of which nobody would ever be able to achieve. But Dean was back, so why were they still talking about it? Especially when the angels were bringing news of an Apocalypse and Lilith was still out there, ruining lives and breaking Seals. He had to keep moving forward, if only for Dean's sake. He couldn't afford to be weak, not when his brother kept having these near misses. Hell, his brother had been sent into a different century and he hadn't even realized it. He'd have never known about it if Dean hadn't told him.

He needed to focus. He needed to keep his head in the game and not get distracted by anything. That included Dean. Saving people, hunting things. That was the job, so that's what he was going to do. He couldn't let the overwhelming grief of the last few months keep him from doing what he had trained his whole life to do. He needed to get back to normal, so he dedicated himself to the job, just like Dean always taught him to do. He shut everything else out and he just worked.

"Can't afford to be what, Sam?" Bobby asked gently.

Sam shook his head. How could he explain that it was all just self-preservation? He couldn't use his powers, so he dove into his work. If he lost Dean again, he wasn't sure how he would react, so he buckled down and refused to think about it. After all, how many times could a heart break before it refused to heal?

The Impala purred her way into the parking lot of the Bluebird Motel and coasted into the parking spot outside of their room. Sam turned the key and stepped out of the car, leaving Bobby with his head shaking. Poor kid didn't know up from down, it seemed to him.

He jumped out of the car when Dean emerged shakily from the motel room. Bobby took a step towards him, but Dean waved him off.

"Nope," he mumbled hoarsely. "We gotta go. We gotta get out of here."

Sam rounded the car and pulled Dean's arm over his shoulders as the older man stumbled. "Alright, but I'm driving."

Dean nodded and passed a hand over his face, though whether he was trying to clear his mind or his facial features of whatever horrors he had encountered while under the influence of the sickness, Bobby couldn't guess. The knowledge that he was letting Sam drive with no argument spoke volumes though.

Bobby watched Sam pour Dean into the car as he strode over to his own truck and got in, gunning the engine as he followed the Impala out of town. Despite Sam's lack of reaction to his brother's potential death sentence, Bobby counted the case as a win. But balls if those two boys weren't making his hair go grayer than it already was.

* * *

 **A/N:** So, what'd you think? Like it? Dislike it? Let me know please! Have a wonderful weekend, and I shall see you all on Tuesday!


	67. Broken Promises

**A/N:** Hi everyone! Hope you all had a good weekend. Thanks to SammysGirl42, Bjester74, hectatess, Tempermental18, celinenaville, Beth Nottingham (x2), shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod, and spnfanforlife for the reviews. This chapter is tagged to episode 4x07, _It's the Great Pumpkin, Sam Winchester_. What a heartbreaking episode. Hope you all enjoy!

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

 **Broken Promises**

Dean was paralyzed. Whether by fear or shock or the pain that shot through him when he saw Sam, he would probably never know. But he was paralyzed, unable to move, to stop what was going on in front of him.

He wanted to move. He wanted to bowl Sam over and use the demon knife that was laying on the floor to kill Samhain. He wanted to hit his brother, knock him out so that the angels wouldn't carry through with their threat of stopping Sam if Dean proved less than successful at the task. He wanted to leave, climb into the Impala and drive away from the scene, away from the brother who was unwittingly breaking his heart. But he remained stuck, like being a bystander watching a car crash. Unable to do anything to stop it, forced to be a spectator of this terrible thing.

And perhaps it wouldn't have been so terrible if it hadn't been Halloween night. Yes, the angels were lying dicks with wings, who came bearing tidings of mixed messages and doom. Yes, Sam was doing his best under the circumstances. Yes, Dean and the whole town probably would have been dead if Sam didn't exorcise Samhain. But it was Halloween. It was so close to November 2nd that Dean could taste the grief like yesterday's beer. Almost 25 years to the day since a _demon_ had fed Sam his blood and killed their mother. 3 years since that same demon had killed Sam's girlfriend and his last link to a normal life. To see Sam using the powers that that blood had given him, especially on a day that was so blackened by mourning, it was like a punch in the gut to the big brother who had carried Sam out of both fires, and vowed to protect him and take care of him no matter what.

He couldn't protect him from this; he didn't know how. This was something that was _inside_ of Sam. Like a kidney or a liver gone bad, except this wasn't something Dean could replace. It was no secret that Dean would've given up anything for Sam, even if it was his only kidney. He'd proven that when he sold his soul. But this…cancer inside of his little brother, this evil thing that was turning his brother into something _else_ , couldn't be cut out or destroyed. Dean couldn't trade anything to make it go away.

He was reduced to being the poor shmo who watched as the Mac truck barreled down on the helpless motorcyclist at 90 miles per hour. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the scene in front of him, and felt a jolt in his stomach as Sam met his gaze, yet continued. He was forced to watch, helpless, as blood poured from Sam's nose and he held a hand to his head, the pressure so much that it was manifesting physically. He watched as, almost in slow motion, Sam pulled the demon out of Don's body, and he felt fear seize him. Samhain had risen, one of the seals had been broken. Dean had failed. What's worse, he had failed Sam as well. The angels said that if he couldn't stop Sam, they would, so he promised that he would. He had already proven that he couldn't live with Sam dead, so what would he do if they tried to take Sam away from him? He felt a bolt of fear shoot through him at the very thought. He wasn't strong enough to fight them; he wouldn't have a choice other than to either let them take Sam or kill them both, and he wasn't prepared for either outcome. He just couldn't believe that his brother had put him in this position, especially since he knew the consequences.

* * *

Sam was on fire. He could feel the demon blood coursing through his veins as he struggled to exorcise Samhain from Don's body. He'd been too long out of practice, and the demon was too powerful. But if he failed, they died. Him. Dean. Everyone in town. Plus, neutralizing the damage of the broken seal had to count for something, right?

He felt Dean's eyes fall on him before he saw him over the shoulder of Samhain, and suddenly he felt like a five-year-old boy again, caught touching the knife he found under Dean's pillow even though he knew he wasn't supposed to. He barely met Dean's eyes before turning back to his work.

He knew he had promised that he wouldn't use the powers that the demon blood gave him, but he had no other choice. The knife had gotten knocked away, and Samhain would have killed him if he hadn't been exorcised.

Sam felt the pressure build up in his brain at the exertion, but he continued. He would prove to Dean that he could do this, that using his powers wasn't necessarily a bad thing. He would use them sparingly and make sure not to draw the angels' attention, but he would do what he had to. He would use them if his life was in danger, or if Dean was in trouble, or on Lilith. He wouldn't get Dean in trouble; that's not what he wanted. He wanted them both to be safe, without the threat of angels or demons or Hell on their asses.

Finally, Samhain left Don's body and went…wherever Sam sent the demons he got rid of. Exhausted, Sam leant against the wall, valiantly trying to keep his eyes away from Dean. He didn't want to see his big brother angry at him or, worse, to see that he wasn't there anymore. Sam felt his hair fall into his eyes as he heaved, and he took advantage of the veil of hair to sneak a glance up at Dean. What he saw made his breath catch painfully in his throat.

 _Fear_. His big brother was afraid of him. What he was, what he did, _who_ he was scared his brother, the brother he loved more than anything. The brother he loved enough to taint himself for feared him. His heart sank in his chest. Anger he could deal with, but fear? That was so much worse. He thought that maybe Dean would understand, that maybe he could look past the powers and see his little brother standing in front of him, willing to do whatever it took to keep them together. He just hoped that Dean cared enough to look past all of it, and see that he was still Sam.

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 **A/N:** So, there's the latest chapter! Hope you all enjoyed! I know it had a bit of a different format, but considering how fractured the boys are in season 4, the only way to do it was to show both sides. Please review to let me know if it worked! And I shall see you all on Friday!


	68. The Weight

**A/N:** Hi everyone. Hope you all had a good week. I did. Got some writing done with the help of celinenaville and Bjester74. I think you guys are really gonna like those chapters. Those ladies came up with some pretty awesome advice.

A response to Guest's review: Thank you for your review! Really appreciate it. I do take requests, but nobody has given me any yet. So, YES! I've been looking for a prompt for that episode, and I love the idea that you gave me!

Thanks to Guest, Bjester74, hectatess, waitingforAslan, Sallyannerenee, shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod, Dragonsrule18, lenail125, Tempermental18, FanaticomaticSuperTokienLover, and spnfanforlife for the reviews. I'm not lying when I say that they make my day. Sometimes, on my breaks, I will sit and read them over again. Your kindness means so much.

This chapter is tagged to 4x08, _Wishful Thinking_. And the title comes from the song 'The Weight' by The Band, though there is a fantastic cover by Jason Manns, Richard Speight Jr., Rob Benedict, Gil McKinney, and Jensen Ackles. Hope you all enjoy it.

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

 **The Weight**

For years, Sam had watched Dean struggle under the weight of countless burdens and responsibilities. He had, once upon a time, imagined Dean trying to scale a sheer rock wall, while cradling his baby brother against his chest and dragging his deadweight father behind him. Now he knew that the weight Dean carried with him was so much more than that. He carried the disappointment of their father, the abandonment of his brother, and the death of their mother on shoulders that were strong; so strong, in fact, that few people noticed when they bowed under the weight they carried.

He carried physical burdens with little effort. The weight of his rapidly growing baby brother was easily carried throughout the years. Whether it was in his arms or on his back, Sam's weight was one of the easiest things Dean ever had to carry. Even when his brother outgrew him, Dean was still able to use the last of his strength to carry his little brother over the finish line of whatever race they were running (usually one for their lives). By the time he was 13, Dean had trained himself to bear the brunt of the weight of his full-grown father, when his father was too drunk or injured to carry himself with his usual military posture. On hunts, Dean carried the bags. On the way home from school, Dean carried both his and Sam's book bags. His young shoulders grew strong and muscled under the strain of the physical weights he carried, just as his young mind struggled to comprehend the enormous burden of the responsibilities that weighed on him.

Being both mother and brother to Sam. Being nurse and caretaker to Dad. Being a hunter and a student and a brother and a son and a teenager. The sheer effort it took to heave his mask into place every morning when things got too much.

" _Can't show Dad how weak I am._ "

" _Can't scare Sammy._ "

" _Don't reveal the bruises or the scars. Someone will try to take them away from me._ "

" _Don't let the cracks show._ "

Nothing, _nothing_ , could have prepared him for what was in store for him later in life. Dad dying. Sam dying. Gifted children. Demon blood. Hell…Hell was the worst.

As much as he did his best to shove everything down and focus on living, he knew that the cracks still showed and that parts of Hell seeped out. He knew he was scaring Sammy, and he knew that, the more he let his pain show, the more the angels were going to threaten him with throwing him back in the Pit, taking him away from his brother.

Sam knew how much Dean carried with him. He was one of the few people alive who knew Dean well enough to be able to tell when the loads he carried got too much. Strangers didn't see the weight of the cross Dean bore on his back daily, but Sam could, and his heart broke when Dean slipped and allowed the pure exhaustion show in his eyes.

Sam did his best to help shoulder the burden that Dean often felt. Whether it was through forcing Dean to take a break or tending to his wounds after a rough hunt, Sam would show the same love and care to his brother that Dean showed to him on a daily basis. He would fight with Dean to carry the more physical burdens, like attempting to walk on his own two feet away from a hunt so that Dean wouldn't have to strain himself, or making a run for the trunk so he could get to the bags before Dean. Even as a young child, carrying his own backpack was as much a sign of independence as it was an attempt to take care of the brother who cared for him.

But Hell left Sam out of his depth. Dean had always been a quiet sufferer, as much as it pained Sam. His big brother would rather suffer in silence than alert anyone to his pain. Sam always did his best to get his brother to open up so that whatever he was keeping locked inside wouldn't devour him, but it was a difficult task. But hearing Dean's whimpers of pain late at night, and knowing that they were coming from some memory of his time in the Pit, that was more painful. It ate at Sam, knowing that what his brother was remembering had happened because of him. Because he had failed at keeping his brother safe and out of Hell's way.

Ever since Dean had returned from the dead, Sam had been wondering if his nightmares about Dean's time down under had been more vision than dream. At first, he thought that nothing could be as horrible as the things he had seen but listening to the sounds of Dean's pain made him question that assertion. That, and the haunted look in Dean's eyes when he woke up spoke the words that Dean refused to say.

Still, hearing the words didn't ease Sam's consciousness. In fact, he felt worse about everything. Because Dean didn't trust him enough to tell him what happened in Hell. Because Hell was obviously so terrible that it had broken something that had been so fundamentally Dean that Sam couldn't even recognize his big brother anymore.

"I shouldn't have lied to you. I _do_ remember everything that happened to me in the Pit. _Everything_."

Sam struggled to keep his face composed. Of course, he had known that Dean remembered something from Hell. He wouldn't have been having nightmares if he didn't. But Dean admitting that he had been wrong to lie about it? That was so far out of Dean's character that it made Sam uneasy. But if he wanted an in into Dean's memories, he was going to take it.

"So tell me about it."

"No."

Sam paused. Dean had never flat-out denied him anything before. A year ago, Dean would have bitched and whined, but eventually let him in. The only time Dean had ever refused to do something for Sam was when Sam wanted to go after Lilith before Dean's deal came due. What was it about Hell that made Dean clam up? Sam knew he didn't know what his brother had been through, but the only way he could find out was for Dean to tell him.

"I'm not gonna lie anymore. But I'm not gonna talk about it."

There it was. Dean's insane need to protect his brother, even from himself. Sam mentally scoffed. He'd survived for four months without Dean to protect him, and he was no different. A little harder, a little angrier, but still Sam. And Sam, at his roots, was a little brother. And Little Brother Sam wanted to take care of his big brother, help his big brother bear the loads that he carried, and make him feel as wanted as his big brother always made him feel.

"Dean, look. You can't just shoulder this thing alone. You gotta let me help," Sam pled as they got ready to leave Concrete, Washington.

Perhaps Sam didn't go about it the way he should have. Telling Dean that he couldn't do something was like daring him to try. Still, Sam resolved to try to get the truth out of Dean, whether he liked it or not. He'd use every trick in the Little Brother Manual, because he wanted to help Dean get through this, like Dean had always been there to help him.

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 **A/N:** And there's your Friday chapter! Hope you all enjoyed! Please leave me a review to let me know what you thought. Oh, and please, anyone reading, talk to me about the last episode. No spoiler alerts, but I'm dying inside.


	69. Wounds

**A/N:** Hey y'all. Happy Tuesday. Sitting here sobbing over the last episode of _This Is Us_. Just remember that we had the incredible Sterling K. Brown first, SPNFam! Thanks to Tempermental18, NightReader22, Sallyannerenee, Dragonsrule18, hectatess, Guest, shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod, and spnfanforlife for the awesome reviews. Thanks also to Bjester74 for the extended conversation regarding _The Raid_. I'm calm now (at least until Thursday).

So, this one is tagged to 4x09, _I Know What You Did Last Summer_. Great episode, but there's one thing that continuously bugs me about it. Hopefully I worked out my issues with this.

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

 **Wounds**

It was one of the more morbid Winchester family traditions, ranking up there with getting blackout drunk on November 2nd and toasting each other with holy water after a demon hunt to make sure nobody had gotten jumped. However, it was a tradition nonetheless. One that went back at least a decade, to a time when their hands still shook and alcohol shouldn't have been so readily available to either of them.

Like after riding a horse or walking a dog, it was the number one rule. You took care of your horse before you took care of yourself. You made sure your dog had enough water before you even thought about taking a drink yourself. You made sure that your hunting partner wasn't going to die from his wounds before you dared attempt to take care of your own.

It was another one of the Winchester family rules that John hadn't really had to teach Dean. Dean could've been bleeding out with a werewolf claw still sticking out of him, and he'd still want to take care of the bump on the back of Sam's skull before he even thought about what was going on with himself. Perhaps it wasn't the best lesson to press on his eldest son, but John needed Dean to have his priorities straight. Besides, Sam was just as stubborn as his brother, and he'd often ignore his own injuries to try to tend to Dean as well. Who caved first was always who got taken care of first.

Despite everything going on around them, that was one thing that hadn't changed. It would never change. Dean would always look out for his little brother, and Sam would always bitch and moan until Dean let Sam take care of him. It was only very rarely that they put themselves first.

"Are you almost done?" Dean grunted, holding his arm gingerly as he exited the bathroom.

Sam sat on his motel bed sewing up the long gash on his arm, curtesy of the broken glass from the stained-glass window they had shattered while making their escape. "I'm going as fast as I can," he muttered back, doing his best not to make more of a bloody mess of his arm than it already was.

"Good, 'cause you know I've got a dislocated shoulder over here," Dean moaned as he grabbed up the bottle of whiskey from the shelf and took a long drag from it. When they had tumbled out of the window, Sam had been lucky enough to only get a long piece of glass lodged in his bicep, but Dean had landed funny and popped his shoulder. Still, he had done his big brother best to try to sew Sam up before accepting defeat and allowing Sam to finish the job. Didn't mean he had to be happy about it. His shoulder ached like a mother, and Sam was taking longer than usual to sew up the relatively small cut.

"Yeah, I'll pop it back in when I'm finished," Sam groused in response, tying off the dental floss and cutting off the ends. The " _I offered to fix you up first, but you're a stubborn jackass_ " went unsaid. Spotting the bottle, Sam made a grab for it. "Gimme that," he demanded before swiping it and pouring a good couple of ounces onto the cut.

Sam faced his brother and prepared to pop his shoulder back into its joint, just like he'd done a dozen times before. But this time was different. This time, as Sam placed a steadying hand on his brother's aching shoulder, he could almost feel the imprint of Castiel's hand rising ever so slightly under his palm. A slight shudder ran through him, which he covered by slamming Dean's shoulder back into place.

He didn't want to think about the handprint. It meant that he had failed at getting Dean out of Hell. It meant that, while he was screwing Ruby and practicing his wordless exorcisms, an angel had been fighting his battle. It meant that his brother was at the mercy of those dicks. It meant that, as much as Sam could sew up cuts and relocate joints, he could never heal the wounds that weren't physical. He could never carry the burdens Dean carried with him. Even if Dean had been up to sharing ( _and boy, did he feel like a dick about trying to force it out of Dean while trying to defend Ruby_ ), he knew he still wouldn't be able to grasp the full breadth of what Dean had gone through. However he imagined Hell to be, mixed with the glimpses into the underworld he had gotten from Ruby, he knew it was ten times worse than anything he could dream up. As much as he wanted to help Dean, he knew that he would never be enough, at least, not on his own.

And, in Sam's mind, that was something Dean was going to have to come to terms with as well. He wasn't the same Sammy that Dean had left behind. While Dean had been suffering in Hell, Sam had been facing Hell on Earth. For the first time in his crappy life, he'd actually wanted to kill himself. Ruby had been right when she said that he was on a kamikaze suicide mission. All he wanted was his brother, and the only way to get to him was to either bust open the gates of Hell or go to Hell himself. He didn't know how to live with the guilt of his brother's death resting on his shoulders. He didn't know how to survive the constant grief that threatened to swallow him whole. So when Ruby had offered him another way, a way to channel his anger and get back at the blond bitch who had taken his brother from him, he'd done it. He found a way to survive without his brother, even if it was only survival and not real living. Dean had to understand that. Sammy was dead; he'd died with his brother in Indiana. Sam was all that was left.

Treating each other's wounds was something they had grown up doing. It was a way of wrapping up a hunt, making sure the other person was still there, and regaining a little of their humanity after facing off against inhuman things. But internal wounds were different. They couldn't be healed by whiskey or dental floss or even by a resurrected brother. Those were the wounds that only time could heal, and time was something Sam did not have. With the 66 Seals being steadily broken by Lilith, he had to act now, Dean's reservations be damned.

* * *

 **A/N:** A quick change to the ending, and there you have it. Hope you enjoyed! I find that I get less reviews per chapter when I update twice a week, which sucks, but whatever, I'm not complaining. I hope you guys are still enjoying the story as it progresses through the seasons. So please review, to let me know if you are. Enjoy your week, and I shall see you on Friday.


	70. Pep Talk

**A/N:** Happy Friday folks! I hope you all had as good a week as I did. Only bad thing that happened to me this week is pure exhaustion today (though I see that as the hallmark of a good week). Thanks to zekeschance, NightReader22, Raven-Pheonix (Guest), DearHart, shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod, Dragonsrule18, hectatess, Tempermental18, Sallyannerenee, and spnfanforlife for the awesome reviews. I truly love hearing what you guys have to say.

So, this one is tagged to 4x10, _Heaven and Hell_. I feel like a lot of you have been waiting for this one, so I hope this meets your expectations. Let me know in a review if it did.

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

 **Pep Talk**

Sam watched as Dean walked away down the deserted dirt road. He felt a section of his heart, the largest section that held his love for his brother, splinter and crack with every step his brother took away from him. Something inside of him yearned to go over and comfort Dean, assure him that, despite everything, nothing had changed between them. And yet, he remained frozen on top of the Impala, unable to reach out and hug his brother.

40 years. 40 damn years. Sam felt those words sink in and lodge themselves in his stomach, a dark, cold mass within him. His four months of mourning, grief, depression, and anger seemed so trivial in comparison to the decades his brother had spent being tortured. But what could he say to make things better for his brother? No amount of " _It's okay, Dean_ " or " _It wasn't your fault_ " would take away the pain that Dean felt. Hell had taken his brother, broken him into tiny pieces, and spat him back out. He wasn't **Dean** anymore, he was just Dean. Gone was the brash, bold, ne'er-do-well brother he had been born loving. In his place was a broken, weak, shell of a man. Sam hated it, but he knew it wasn't Dean's fault. He held out for thirty years. Thirty years of believing that his brother would save him before he lost hope, or faith, or because he just plain couldn't take it anymore.

But deep down, Sam knew that blaming himself wouldn't fix Dean. He was going to stop his damn pity party and fix his brother. He'd been selfish and thoughtless for too long. He hadn't been there when Dean had needed him most, so he sure as Hell was going to be there now. Dean had gone to Hell, for 40 freaking years, for him. Not for some random victim, not to get Mom and Dad back, but for him. Sam would do whatever it took, come Hell or high water, to repay his brother for his sacrifice. He would repay Dean's suffering a hundred times over, but to do that, the blond bitch who started all of this had to die. Forget breaking Seals, he had to make sure nobody, no demons or angels, was going to take his brother from him again.

And honestly? If Castiel or Uriel or even Anna showed up at that moment, with the way Sam was feeling, they wouldn't be walking away from that fight. He'd kill them all. How DARE they threaten to throw Dean back into Hell? He felt the demon blood flow through his veins as his anger reached a tipping point. If he could only exorcise angels the way he did demons…

Dean returned slowly to the car, wiping a hand over his face and mouth in a poor attempt to clear his face of the leftover tears and emotion of his confession. Sam shook his head. After all these years, Dean still didn't know that Sam could read him better than anyone else alive. He saw the red-rimmed eyes and could hear the slight hitch in his breathing.

"C'mon," Dean croaked before clearing his throat with a grunt. "Let's get out of here."

"Dean…"

"Please?" Dean met his eyes over the hood of the car before flinching and looking away.

Sam nodded thoughtfully before folding his body into the car and staring pensively out the window.

The drive out of town was made in complete silence. Dead air hung between the brothers like a heavy stench.

"You know it doesn't change anything, right?" Sam spoke suddenly, drawing Dean's eyes momentarily away from the road. Sam noted that Dean still would not meet his gaze, and felt his heart sink. Sharing what had gone down in Hell hadn't made Dean feel better, like he thought it would. Instead, it seemed to have made him even more ashamed. Sam wanted to try to break through his brother's defenses before they hardened completely.

"What?" Sam cringed at the exhaustion in Dean's voice.

"What happened…in Hell. It doesn't change anything."

Dean barked out a humorless laugh. "Sure, Sammy. Whatever you say."

Sam rubbed his hand over his forehead, trying to fight off the flash of frustration he felt. "I'm being serious, man," he snapped, immediately regretting it when Dean's face fell. "I just—I just mean that what you did in Hell—damn it, that sounds bad—what they made you do in Hell, it doesn't change everything else you've done. The lives you've saved, the evil bastards you've taken off the map…1 month—"

"10 years."

"10 years of—" Sam swallowed painfully as he squeezed out the word. "Torturing can't erase everything you've done. You've been hunting since you were 10. That's hundreds of lives saved. A lifetime of good deeds can't be erased by 10 years of…" Sam paused to think of a sensitive way to describe what Dean had gone through, half thinking that Dean would interrupt his train of thought with a smartass or self-deprecating comment, but it never came.

"Yeah, well…haven't been good for much lately. Pamela's blind. Travis is dead. Seals are breakin' left and right, and I caught that damn ghost sickness. You don't need me weighing you down. Cas should've just left me in the Pit."

"No Dean!" Sam shouted, and it was a testament to Dean's steady driving hands that they didn't crash the car when he jerked at the sudden outburst. "No matter what you did down there, it doesn't matter! I know you're numb! I know you wish Castiel and the angels hadn't saved you, but I'm damn glad they did!"

"Why? If I wasn't here, you and—"

"If you say Ruby, I swear to God!" Sam passed a hand over his eyes, pressing his fingers in to try to dispel the headache that was beginning to set it. Taking a deep breath, he continued. "Do you know how I know that you're still you?" Sam took the silence hanging between them as an answer. "They threatened me, and you were willing to sell Anna down the river to stop them. It didn't matter to you that they were gonna throw you back in the Pit, it didn't matter how many innocent lives they threatened. They came at me, and you tried everything you could to stop them. Even before the plan, you were willing to do whatever it took. That's what you've always done, and that's how I know you haven't changed."

Despite Sam's (mostly true) pep talk, the grief on Dean's face did not disappear or lessen. It remained, as though Dean knew that his brother viewed him as different. Not as a monster, as Dean feared, but as broken. They had torn his brother apart piece by piece, and the angels had put him back together, but not completely. Dean was still in Hell, and that made things so much worse. But Dean was still Sam's big brother. And there was still nothing he wouldn't do for him.

* * *

 **A/N:** Hope you all enjoyed that! I will see you all on Tuesday for the next chapter. Much love!


	71. Hell on Earth

**A/N:** Okay, so I'm gonna keep this quick because I'm busy sobbing my freaking eyes out over the damn _This Is Us_ season one finale. Y'all know I love Jared, but Milo might just steal my heart if it came to a 'Gilmore Girls Boyfriend Face-off'. Anyway. Thanks to Guest, NightReader22, Bjester74, hectatess, Tempermental18, shadowhutingdauntlessdemigod, spnfanforlife, and waitingforAslan for the reviews. Much appreciated.

So, this one is tagged to 4x11, _Family Remains_. Super creepy episode, and I shall leave you only with that. Enjoy.

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

 **Hell on Earth**

Another case wrapped up; another life lost. They had even gotten the freaking dog. That thought alone made Dean's stomach roll. Sure, the Uncle had been a bit of a dick, but the dog? That damn dog had been innocent.

" _When has that ever stopped you before, Dean?_ " he thought to himself with a scoff. How many innocent souls had he ripped apart in Hell, relishing in the fact that it wasn't him on the table? Hundreds? Thousands? 10 years was a long time; who knew how many souls he had shredded with his blade because he'd been too weak, too devastated to continue being the tortured.

He could remember all their faces, staring up at him, pleading with him not to hurt them. But he did. He tore them apart so that he wouldn't be put back in their place. The worst part was when he came across someone he knew. George Darrow, the artist from Mississippi who first summoned the Crossroads Demon. Evan Hudson, the guy who sold his soul to save his wife. Turns out that demonic bitch hadn't been as in charge as she thought. The 'King of the Crossroads' didn't like her reneging on the deal, so he took both Evan and Julie to Hell to get back at them.

" _You were supposed to save us!_ " Evan had screamed the first time Dean had laid into him. God, he could still hear his screams sometimes, especially on night's when he couldn't fully shut the memories out.

The only soul he hadn't felt terrible about tearing into had been Bela Talbot. That bitch had deserved every slice and burn he had given her. After everything she had put him and Sam through, he thoroughly enjoyed making her scream. The first time she'd appeared on his table, he'd ended it too quickly, opting to just shoot her in the head like he had so wanted to when she shot Sam. Of course, she hadn't died, but he'd lost his control and been punished by Alistair for not being 'professional'. After that, he'd torn into her slowly and painfully, relishing in every scream and gasp she gave, every time she looked at him with fear in her eyes.

Looking back, that had been the turning point, the moment when he had truly begun to enjoy what he was doing. Every soul in Hell was either an evil SOB who deserved to be there, or some schmuck who had traded their soul away for business or pleasure or plain stupidity. In his Hell-twisted mind, the bastards who appeared before him deserved it. They deserved every searing pain they felt because it was Hell, and what else did they expect?

Dean had sure expected it. Figured he deserved it too. Not for saving his brother, because he would do it again in a heartbeat, even knowing exactly what would come from it. No, he deserved it because he should've died two years ago, in the car accident that had led to his father selling his soul for him. His time had been up long before his deal came due, and this was his just rewards for messing with the natural order of things.

The only bad thing about the arrangement was that sometimes misbehaving demons were put in front of his knife, and they would almost always be wearing Sammy's face. The first few times it had stilled his blade, shaking him to his core because Sam _couldn't_ be there. He'd promised that he wouldn't go snooping around and try to switch the contract onto himself. But then, when the cackling bitch had begun to mock him, he more than taught her a lesson. After that, when they came in dressed as Sam and begging him not to hurt them, he'd start by peeling their faces off before moving into the more painful practices he'd been taught to use.

Sometimes, though, Dean thought that the real torture was being back when he knew he didn't deserve it. He would never admit it to Sam, and he would kill Castiel if he ever told him, but he fought like…well, like Hell when Castiel had tried to "raise him from perdition". He fought like a wild animal being pulled away from its natural habitat. He knew he didn't deserve to be saved. He'd tortured people for his own personal gain, and he'd enjoyed it.

Worse still was being back and knowing he wasn't needed. Sammy was…different, to say the absolute least. The Sam he'd left behind would never have run around with a demon, and he sure would never have left Dean alone in a motel room so soon after getting him back. His Sam never would have used the demonic powers that had been given to him by the demon who killed both their mom and his girlfriend. Even Bobby was different, disappearing to some Caribbean island when the Apocalypse was breathing down their necks. He just…didn't know where he fit anymore. Dad was gone, Bobby was off tanning on some beach somewhere, and Sam was all hard edges where he used to be the little kid who looked at Dean like he was some sort of superhero.

Now, he was useless. He had half a mind to call up Castiel (if the poor bastard had survived the Godzilla vs. Mathura showdown in the barn) and just ask him to throw him back where he found him. He'd gotten Uncle Ted killed, left a family traumatized, killed one deranged human child, and come clean to Sam about how much he enjoyed being Hell's number one torturer. Plus, he'd gotten that stupid dog killed. That stupid, family loving, totally innocent dog was dead because of him. Dean had never believed in the phrase 'Hell on Earth' before, but he got it now. As thrilled as he had been to come back and find out that Bobby wasn't a pile of ashes and Sam wasn't old and gray, he knew he didn't fit anymore. He'd been gone for 40 years. Even if nothing had changed topside, he knew he was a different man inside. At the same time, he knew he couldn't leave. He wouldn't tell the angels to throw his ass back in Hell, as much as he wanted to. He had to stick around, for Sammy's sake. If he didn't, and Sam kept using his demon powers, the angels would end him, and Dean couldn't allow that to happen.

* * *

 **A/N:** Well, there you have it. Hope you all enjoyed it. Please review, they shall help me dam my tears back. I hope. Have a lovely, love-filled week, and I shall see you all on Friday.


	72. Mantra

**A/N:** Happy St. Patrick's Day, everybody! Even if you don't celebrate, I wish you all the luck of the Irish for the coming year. Thanks to Sallyannerenee, SammysGirl42, Bjester74, spnfanforlife, hectatess, Tempermental18, celinenaville, and shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod for the reviews. You guys make me feel pretty lucky every day.

This chapter is tagged to episode 4x12, _Criss Angel is a Douche Bag_. Apparently the last chapter was "dark" and "creepy", which was definitely not my intent. Let me know if you guys want me to start putting warnings or something at the top of the chapters. I don't usually because I don't think I go too far beyond what they show in the show, but I don't know. Anyway, I hope this one is a little bit lighter. Please, read and enjoy. And review.

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

 **Mantra**

" _I don't want to be doing this when I'm an old man._ "

Sam was staring down at his brother the first time the thought crossed his mind. They were at Bobby's, Dean healing up after a hunt that Sam had been left behind on. Dean's distraction had almost cost him his life, and Sam's words to him before he left were echoing in his ears, and suddenly Sam felt like he couldn't breathe. Dean was the one with the fever, and the infection, and the torn apart chest, but Sam was the one who couldn't breathe.

He was only ten, but he could already see his life playing out before him like one slow, tragic movie. One hunt after another, after another, after another. More blood on his hands than Jack the Ripper. Watching his brother, or his father, or any one of the hunters they actually kept in contact with, getting torn to shreds by a werewolf, or a black dog, or a ghoul, or a wraith. Smelling like death and decay and bad liquor. Having a body that could rival Frankenstein's.

He didn't want it. Any of it. He didn't want the hunting, or the motels, or the traveling. He didn't want to be constantly worried that his best friend wouldn't come home. He wanted normal. He wanted a brother who didn't get torn apart just because Sam had let his emotions get the better of him. He wanted a father, not a corporal. He wanted to live. So, he worked and studied and fought so he could have something other than a bloody life and an even bloodier death.

* * *

"I don't want to be doing this when I'm an old man," Sam admitted quietly, sitting on the rickety porch of the rundown house in Maine that was the Casa de Winchester of the Month.

Dean held his Stanford acceptance letter in a hand that Sam hoped was shaking due to massive alcohol consumption and not his brother's emotions. If his big brother broke down…God, Sam didn't know what he would do.

"Wha'?" The question came out more as a gasp, and Sam shuttered his eyes against the well of tears that threatened to escape. He needed Dean to understand, to be on board with this, or he wouldn't be able to go. He couldn't hurt Dean. He wouldn't.

"This, Dean!" Sam stood up and swung his arms around in the midnight air. "This! Living in a rundown house, with no heat and no running water in the middle of freaking nowhere! Not knowing when Dad is coming back, or if he will at all! Moving every couple of weeks because we have to go where the work takes us! I want friends, Dean! I want a home and a family, and a job where I won't die before I'm 30! I don't want this! I never wanted this! MOM never wanted this for us!"

"You shut your damn mouth, Sammy," Dean growled, though whether it was in anger or from fear, Sam didn't know.

"I'm sorry, Dean," he whispered, even the crickets hushing their song to listen to his words. "Maybe if—" The " _If you came with me_ " died in his throat when Dean shoved the letter into his chest and walked out into the field next to the house.

Sam would go on to Stanford and be successful, because it was his way out. He wouldn't end up burnt on a funeral pyre. And, hopefully, one day, Dean would see that getting out was the best thing for him.

* * *

"I don't want to be doing this when I'm an old man," he declared as he and Ruby pulled away from the motel.

She nodded in understanding, and Sam felt a bolt of hate rush through him at the sight. How could a demon understand him better than his own brother? She was supposed to keep Dean out of Hell, but she'd been a lying snake in the grass the whole time, and now, his brother was suffering. Castiel, that sonofabitch, had gotten Dean out of Hell, but only in mind and body. Dean's spirit, that fight that made him a damn good hunter and an even better brother, was gone. Sam was okay with that, even though it pained him to see his larger than life big brother reduced to something so…weak.

"I'm guessing good ol'Dean-O doesn't know about this?" she teased, and Sam had to reel back the urge to rip the bitch right out of her vessel. Part of him, the part that yearned for what she could give him, had feelings for her, but the rest despised her. He slept with her because he longed for that companionship, to actually _feel_ something for the first time in months, but that was all.

"I don't want to talk about it," he snapped. She glared at him, but thankfully shut up.

Leaving Dean in the motel had been harder than he thought. Not only was he going back to lying to him, completely ignoring his wishes, and putting him in a tight spot with the angels, but he was leaving him alone and drunk in a motel room when he was still suffering from his nightmarish flashbacks of Hell.

Through his whole life, Dean had been there to sooth every fever, bandage every wound, and calm every nightmare. Even in adulthood, when the visions were getting more realistic and terrifying, Dean had been there to offer a comforting hand and a glass of cool water. Yet, Sam was willing to just leave him there, alone, in his suffering.

Sam felt torn, but he knew his mission was the same either way. He didn't want to be hunting or dealing with demons or stopping Apocalypses when he was an old man, and he wouldn't let Dean keep going either. He was going to finish this. They weren't going to suffer anymore. They were going to be free. Dean would get strong again, but Sam knew he needed to be strong first. He had to destroy Lilith so that Lucifer never left his cage, and he had to end any other demon who came at his brother.

* * *

 **A/N:** So, I hope that tickled your fancy. A little dark, but hopefully less creepy than the last. Enjoy your weekends (you St. Paddy's Day partiers don't drink too much!) and I shall see you all on Tuesday.


	73. Another Brick in the Wall

**A/N:** Hi everybody! Hope you all had an amazing week. I know we're still in the Supernatural drought, so I hope this chapter helps quench our thirst! Thanks to Dragonsrule18, Sallyannerenee, celinenaville, Guest 2, Guest 1, hectatess, Tempermental18, SammysGirl42, Ceryle, spnfanforlife, shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod, and waitingforAslan for the awesome reviews. This chapter is tagged to episode 4x13, _After School Special_. I really enjoyed this episode, so I hope you all enjoy this chapter. Please review when you're finished!

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me. It all belongs to Eric Kripke, while the song belongs to _Pink Floyd_.

* * *

 **Another Brick in the Wall**

" _We don't need no education…_

 _We don't need no thought control!_

 _No dark sarcasm in the classroom_

 _Teacher leave those kids alone…_ "

"HEY! TEACHER! LEAVE THOSE KIDS ALONE!" Dean yelled in time with the song, grinning maniacally over at Sam in the passenger seat. Sam, in true little brother form, sunk lower in the seat. "Ahh, c'mon Sammy! What did Pink Floyd ever do to you?"

"At the moment?" Sam shot back snidely. "Busted eardrums aren't exactly a gift to someone who _relies_ on their hearing, you know."

Dean chuckled with a broad grin on his face, reaching down to turn the music down to a more respectable level. "Don't be like that, Little Brother. This hunt just goes to show that I've been right this whole time. School sucks! Kids are assholes, teachers need to get a life, and you never use what you learn in math class! Talk about a waste of time!"

"You know what, Dean? Some people actually _liked_ school! Learning new facts, attempting to _better_ themselves? I mean, I know all you learned were 101 different ways to pick up girls, but _normal_ people actually wanted more to their lives than motels and driving halfway across the country on a hunch," Sam grumbled, pushing himself further into his seat and crossing his arms. "Besides, if school sucks so much, why the Hell did you go back and get your GED?"

"What?" Dean shifted uncomfortably, an odd occurrence when he was in the driver's seat of his Baby. "Where the Hell'd you get the idea that I got my GED?"

"I found the certificate in the trunk of the car when you picked me up from school. It was right before I had to bust your ass out of jail." Sam shot his brother a look. "Why'd you decide to finally go back and get your diploma?"

Dean shrugged. "Needed it for a job," he muttered quietly, jamming his thumb into the radio dial to shut the music off.

"Oh really? And you couldn't just forge one? The guy who makes a living making fake documents and IDs couldn't make a diploma?" Sam snarked back.

Dean glared at him. "And how do you know that it wasn't a fake one, smart guy?"

Sam huffed and settled back into his seat again. "I looked up the school online, and they had your records. You're good, but you're not that good." The growl of the engine rose to an almost deafening level as the silence went on. "Dean, why did you get your diploma?" Sam asked, less accusatory the second time around.

Dean released a long-suffering sigh and rubbed at his eyes behind his sunglasses. "You remember that wendigo hunt that I did solo a few years back?" Sam gulped, knowing in his heart of hearts that there was no way he could ever forget _that_ particular hunt.

"Yeah," he mumbled quietly, grateful that Dean wasn't looking at him to see his shaky hands. The guilt of that hunt and what came after still gnawed at him.

"Well, uhh…" Dean chuckled nervously. "Turns out that when I signed myself out AMA, they weren't kiddin' about the risk of infection and blood loss. Ended up pretty sick when I landed at Bobby's. Doc friend of his was tossing around fancy words like "sepsis" and "kidney failure" when the infection kicked in. Bobby, uh, Bobby mentioned that I should probably prepare for a life without hunting. Shoulda socked him in the face for even suggesting it, but, hey, it was Bobby, so I humored him."

"So you got your GED? What were you gonna do with it?" Sam inquired, eager to know more about this new side of his brother. Dean and school had never really mixed until he discovered girls; then school only had one use.

Dean shrugged self-consciously. "Probably find a school that would take me that had a mechanic program. At least that would be something I knew how to do." Dean seemed to toy with a thought for a moment before tacking on, "Foothill College actually had a pretty decent program."

For a moment, Sam wondered if the world had stopped turning. He felt oddly weightless, like somebody had turned the gravity off, and he was floating outside of his own skin.

For the vast majority of his life, Sam was the one who had aimed towards school. Dean was the one who had dropped out in the middle of his senior year ( _though Sam never could understand why; his brother had been a semester away from graduating_ ). Dean was the one who viewed school as a distraction from hunting. Yet, it made sense that, with a possible future without hunting looming, Dean would attempt to find a backup plan. His brother wasn't an idiot, no matter how many times Sam may have called him one in jest. But it did sting, knowing that this backup plan had been hidden from him. Of course, part of his brain registered that it was his own fault; if he had only stuck around and been there for Dean in the wake of that hunt, he'd have known that Dean was potentially facing early retirement, and he would've been able to help Dean nail out the intricacies of life after hunting.

The whole situation kind of reminded him of the dreams he would have while still in school; dreams of Winchester Weekends, and wives and kids, where he could have his cake and eat it too. It was nice to see that Dean had dreamed of normal too, but it stung to think that he wasn't included in those fantasies. In hindsight, Sam knew it was only fair. After the way he'd treated his brother after that hunt, walking out on him while he was still hurt and unable to follow him, he didn't blame Dean for not wanting his little brother to be a part of his new life. He was probably worried that he'd be hearing " _I told you so_ " for the rest of his days if he did. Plus, knowing what Sam knew now, he wouldn't want to burden Dean with the whole visions, demon blood, evil powers thing either, especially if Dean wouldn't have been able to help.

Dean looked over at Sam, who had gone suspiciously silent after his admission. The kid was staring out the window, chewing on his bottom lip with that guilt-ridden look in his eyes. He shook his head ruefully and turned the music up. He should've guessed that his genius kid brother wouldn't have remembered that Foothill College was only 5 miles out of the Stanford city center.

* * *

 **A/N:** See, I told you that there would be a few happy chapters this season! Also, if anybody is good at fan art or something similar, I'm looking for a picture to go with this story, and I'm hoping you guys could help me out. Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed! Review, and have a great week!


	74. Secrets and Lies

**A/N:** Happy Friday, everybody! This is the chapter that tags to 4x14, _Sex and Violence_. Thanks to Bjester74, SammysGirl42, Dragonsrule18, Tempermental18, hectatess, Ceryle, spnfanforlife, and shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod for the reviews. Please leave a review at the end so I know what you think :)

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

 **Secrets and Lies**

Sam used to look at him different. The looks had obviously changed from the time he was a six-month-old baby, but they were still different from the way he looked at him now.

When he was a baby, he would look at Dean like the Sun rose and set with him. Course, the kid didn't know any better. Dad was half in the bag most of the time, and Mom was gone. Dean was all he had. Even though Baby Sammy couldn't even speak yet, the look he would give his brother spoke volumes, spoke of a connection that transcended any spoken language ever developed. Love, adoration, whatever you wanted to call it, it shone in Sam's eyes when neither of them were old enough to understand what those words even meant.

When he was a toddler, and Dean would pick him up from the babysitter or daycare or kindergarten, his eyes would light up when he saw his big brother. He'd launch himself at Dean like he hadn't seen him in months. Dean would feel himself go red at the inevitable " _Aww!_ " that would come from any mother, grandmother, aunt, or teacher in the area. Sam would wrap himself around Dean like a spider monkey and they would walk home with Sam perched on his brother's young shoulders.

When he got older, he started to pull away. Dean wasn't sure when that happened exactly; whether it was after he told Sam about monsters or after his first hunt after that Christmas, but, one day, Sam stopped greeting his brother like an overexcited puppy. That didn't mean that look ever went away, however. No, Sam still got that shiny look in his eyes, especially after hunts. When Dean would gank the bad guy, save the damsel, and still have time to give his kid brother the " _See, I told you nothing bad was gonna happen_ " speech, Sam would look at him with that look. Sometimes it appeared when they were at school, when one of the other kids was in awe of Sam because he just so happened to have the coolest kid in school as his big brother. On top of that, his big brother was actually willing to talk to him within the hallowed hallways of the school. That made Sam cool, and Sam would always get the " _That's MY brother_ " look in his eyes.

Dean enjoyed the pride his little brother had in him. It was a far cry from what Dad got, but Sam was also the one thing Dean didn't measure himself against his Dad with. Sam was _his_ responsibility, and to know that the kid saw him as some great hero was the most amazing thing he could ever ask for. For Dean, actions spoke louder than words. He never needed Sam to prove that he loved him and respected him and was proud of the work he did. He knew by the way he would look at him sometimes in awe and amazement, with that tiny glimmer of pride. He knew when Sam gave him the amulet. He knew because Sam always came back to him. Not to Dad, but to him.

Dean missed those looks. He missed knowing that the kid gave a damn about him, but most of all he missed the hint of pride in Sam's voice whenever he would say " _That's my big brother, Dean_." It didn't matter if the words were a begrudging acknowledgement of Dean when he was acting like a total douche, or if he muttered them quietly as though to just get the introduction over with as fast as possible. Dean could always hear that hint of pride at being related to him.

Long story short, he missed when Sam's eyes were filled with hero-worship instead of pity and resentment. He knew Sam resented him; he'd basically told him so under the influence of the siren venom.

" _You know why I didn't tell you about Ruby, and how we're hunting down Lilith? Because you're too weak to go after her, Dean! You're holding me back! I'm a better hunter than you are. Stronger, smarter. I can take out demons you're too scared to go near_."

" _You're too busy sitting around feeling sorry for yourself. Whining about all the souls you tortured in Hell. Boo hoo._ "

Just like with Dr. Ellicott's possession, the hateful, hurtful words must've been floating in the back of Sam's mind for some time, for them to be able to burst out in such a venomous tone with one squirt of siren juice.

Dean didn't know what to do. He had promised that he would stop Sam from using his powers, but, even more important than listening to a couple of babies with wings, he had promised Sam that he would save him. He couldn't leave him, but that only left Sam the opportunity to leave him first. How long would it take for him to wake up and find his baby brother gone? It had already happened twice, but Sam had come back. What if he didn't? What if he decided that Dean wasn't worth it?

"You boys gonna be okay?" Bobby asked, taking them in with a patient look in his eyes. He had only come in at the end of the fight, but he'd heard Dean telling Sam to call him weak one more time. He was worried about the boys. They were so off their game that they couldn't tell that Monroe hadn't been FBI, and finding Dean standing above Sam with an axe had been terrifying.

"Yeah, fine," Sam responded, sipping on his soda.

Dean hesitated for a moment before adding, "Yeah, good."

Dean watched Bobby walk towards his truck, feeling a pit sink into his stomach at the thought of being left alone with his brother.

"You know, those sirens are nasty. That it got to you, that's no reason to feel bad." With that, Bobby drove away and Dean became overly interested in his soda. There was no way he could tell Bobby that the siren wasn't what he was feeling bad about.

"You gonna say goodbye to Cara?" Dean asked, awkwardly attempting to bridge the gap between them.

"Nah, not interested."

"Really? Why not?"

"What's the point?" Sam shrugged, looking down at his toes as they leaned against the Impala, side by side.

Dean laughed once under his breath. "Well, look at you. Love 'em and leave 'em."

Dean watched as Sam flinched under the thinly veiled accusation.

"Dean, look. You know I didn't mean the things I said back there, right? That it was just the siren's spell talking?"

Dean smirked. Sam sounded desperate to make him believe that, but Dean knew the truth. He knew Sam meant it because Dean had meant everything he'd said about being tired of the secrets and lies.

"Of course. Me too," Dean replied tiredly. He didn't want to fight. Was tired of fighting. He'd been fighting his whole life, then the 30 years in Hell. He didn't want to fight his brother anymore.

"'Kay…So, we're good?"

"Yeah, we're good."

* * *

 **A/N:** And there we go ladies and gents. Another chapter in the can. Hope you all enjoyed. Please review so I know how I did, and I shall see you all on Tuesday for the next chapter. And, if you know your _Supernatural_ episodes, you'll know the next few chapters are absolute doozies. Have fun with that thought, and enjoy your weekends.


	75. Collateral Damage

**A/N:** Hi guys. Hope all is well. I'd like to offer my sincerest thanks to Sallyannerenee (x2), NightReader22 (x4), shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod, Beth Nottingham (x5), hectatess, Tempermental18, waitingforAslan, lenail125, celinenaville, spnfanforlife for their reviews. This chapter is tagged to episode 4x15, _Death Takes a Holiday_. Hope you all enjoy.

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

 **Collateral Damage**

A small field in Wyoming served as the setting for Pamela's funeral. Dean left Sam behind to gather the wood for her pyre. Sam sat with the body, thinking about her last words to him.

" _If you think you have good intentions, think again_."

Sam swallowed hard. He wanted to believe that she was wrong, that it was blood loss and pain that skewed her vision of him, but even he wasn't believing himself. Dean was telling him to stop. The Angels were intent on stopping him. Now Pamela. And yet, something inside of him was saying that he had to continue. He _had_ to get Lilith, for both the sake of his brother and the sake of the world as a whole. His powers had saved him from Alistair! There were perks, but at what cost? At the rate he was going, he was going to lose everything he was so intent on saving. Pamela was dead, Bobby had abandoned ship for a couple of weeks. Dean was already building walls so thick that it was more difficult than usual to get him to open up. He wanted his brother back, but seemed to be doing everything he could to push him away, and it was killing him. All he wanted was to protect Dean the way Dean had always protected him. If he ended up saving the world at the same time, so be it. If he lost everything in the process, that was a price he had to pay to protect his world.

Dean walked back into the clearing with two arm loads of kindling in tow. Sam pulled out the extra lumber they had gotten from the trunk, and the two settled into the eerily familiar routine of building a funeral pyre for their fallen friend. It was only a few minutes later that they were delicately laying Pamela's corpse on the wooden platform and lighting it on fire.

The crackling of the flames overtook the silence for a moment before Sam heard Dean shift beside him and sigh.

"We shouldn't be doing this…" he muttered quietly. "Tessa could've given us a break for saving her ass."

"Yeah, speaking of…" Sam turned to him, crossing his arms tightly across his chest. "Why didn't you tell me that you were on a first name basis with the reaper who almost took you after the car accident?"

Dean shrugged, face half lit up by the flames. "Honestly? I didn't remember anything until she kissed me. She kept tryin' to reap me, but I kept sayin' no. Couldn't go. Couldn't leave you and Dad."

"Changed your tune on that pretty quickly," Sam muttered darkly, casting his eyes away from Dean and to the ground.

Dean crossed his arms and stared into the flames. "I'm not gonna get into some fireside brawl with you, Sam. Not at Pamela's funeral."

"Dean, you said that you felt a giant hole inside of you after the accident! Was your Deal somehow supposed to make you whole again? Is that what the BS about 'correcting the natural order' was?"

"What about 'I didn't remember' aren't you getting, man? All I know now is that she got pretty damn close to reaping me, but then Azazel took over when Dad made his deal. Case closed," Dean replied with a forced calmness in his voice. He really didn't want to be arguing with Sam, but it seemed like that was all they did anymore.

"Wait…" Sam furrowed his brow in thought, causing Dean to tense. What was going to set his brother off now? "Cole…he said that he refused his reaper. You said that you refused Tessa at first. But you just said that she got pretty damn close to taking you. Dean…" Sam looked up at him, eyes glinting in the dying embers of the fire. "Were you going to say yes to Tessa?" Dean moved to grab the container of water to put out the last few flames dancing on the ashes of the wood, but Sam grabbed his arm in a vice grip. "Dean?"

"I don't know, man. I don't know." Dean wrenched his arm away and dumped the cool liquid over Pamela's grave, stopping only when he heard Sam scoff and laugh coldly. "Honestly, Sammy? Even if I had, would you have minded?" Dean turned and faced his brother head on. "Seems to me like you do pretty well for yourself when I'm out of the picture. Maybe I should call Tessa up and see if she'll take me now. Then you can run around with your demon whore all you want, without your weak and broken big brother to worry about."

Sam reeled back like Dean had socked him. No matter how many times he apologized and said that he didn't mean what he'd said under the influence of the siren, Dean couldn't get it out of his mind. It wasn't fair. Dean had never refused one of his apologies before, no matter if he meant it or not. Granted, they had never been this fractured before. It was like they both wanted to get back onto the same page, but couldn't figure out how. He wanted his brother's support when he went up against Lilith, and he knew Dean wanted his support while stopping the 66 Seals from breaking. They just weren't clicking like they used to.

Sam passed a hand over his face. "You're right…It's Pamela's funeral, we shouldn't be fighting." He hated fighting with his big brother like this, but he _had_ to finish things with Lilith. If Ruby was the best way to do that, he was going to play her like a violin. Still, he didn't want Dean to become collateral damage. He needed his brother.

They climbed into the car, and Sam pulled out his vibrating phone. Ruby's number was flashing on the screen, but he hit Cancel and shoved the phone back into his pocket.

"Look, Dean…I'm sorry. I shouldn't be keeping secrets from you. I've just been operating on my own for a long time, and I know you don't approve of what I'm doing with Ruby, so I thought it would be easier if I just kept quiet about it. But it was a stupid plan. I'm not going to stop going after Lilith, and I'm not going to stop working with Ruby to do it. But I'm going to loop you in from now on. I'm tired of fighting. I just want to try to get back to normal. Okay?"

He knew that his excuses were weak. What was his four months versus Dean's forty years? In comparison, he'd been alone for the blink of an eye, and yet he was the one having the most difficulty adapting to life with his brother again. But he hoped Dean could hear the earnestness in his voice, because he meant it all. He did want to get back to normal, whatever this post-Hell, fighting the Apocalypse normal was going to be. He only hoped that Dean would accept his apology this time, and stick it out with him.

"Okay, Sammy," Dean sighed. "But I'm giving you fair warning. I'm still gonna try to stop you from using those freaky powers." Sam shook his head in exasperation but kept his thoughts to himself. He'd rather have his brother half in the dark and by his side than being jerked around by some dicks with wings.

Dean turned over the engine, revving it in an attempt to feed some heat back into the muscle car.

"I'd rather have you hate me than be smote by some angel," Dean whispered, his words easily lost in the growl of the engine.

The tension still surrounded the car, but it was a start.

* * *

 **A/N:** There you have it. Hope it merits a review (wink wink nudge nudge). Until next time!


	76. Hero of the Hour

**A/N:** Howdy gang! Hope everybody had a fantastic week. I'm exhausted and ready to sleep the weekend away. Your PSA for the week: Working with children is the best form of birth control out there. Anyway. Thanks to hollyhobbit101, NightReader22, Bjester74, Sallyannerenee, Jill N, Guest, bagelcat1, Dragonsrule18, Tempermental18, hectatess, spnfanforlife, and shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod for the amazing reviews. I hope this chapter for episode 4x16, _On the Head of a Pin_. Hope you all enjoy, and show your enjoyment through a review.

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

 **Hero of the Hour**

At first, he didn't even register the fact that his brother was crumpled on the floor. Ruby's blood was singing in his veins, and the power it brought bubbled right below the surface of his skin. He felt like he was flying. He had gone without her blood for so long that, now that he had it, he realized just how much he had missed it. It had been calling to him. That ache in his neck, and the pain prickling his temples, and the itch under his skin, just out of reach. All signs pointing towards her and what she had to offer. Still, he'd made a promise. He'd promised Dean that he wouldn't use his powers anymore. A promise he'd broken, but with the best of intentions. He'd used up whatever power his last drink of her blood had given him after the magician hunt, but he knew he needed more. Those freaking angels had stolen his brother from him, again, and he needed to get him back. So, he did what he had to do.

When Alistair was dead, he'd felt a rush of elation. He may not have been able to get Dean out of Hell, but he'd been able to kill the demon who had made Dean's time in Hell that much worse. His glee was snuffed out the second he looked at his brother lying lifeless on the floor.

A pool of blood. An unmoving big brother. A thankfully waning power within him that, if he had been at full strength, he would've used to try to rip Castiel and Uriel right out of their vessels. He felt his hands begin to shake as he dropped to his knees beside his brother, and was unsure if it was anxiety over Dean's condition or the need for more of Ruby's blood that was making them quake.

"Dean?" No response. Sam held his finger under Dean's nose and waited. A slight breath of air passed over it, and Sam sighed gratefully. "Dean? Dean, wake up…" Sam shook his shoulder gently, then harder. He didn't think of head or neck injuries; he just wanted his brother to open his eyes and show that Sam hadn't been too late, not this time. The last time Dean hadn't responded to Sam's calls was when the Hell Hounds had torn him apart, and that knowledge sunk like lead in Sam's stomach, because he knew he was off the reservation, but that it would all be okay because Dean was there and Dean made everything better, even when he was pissed at Sam. "Okay. Okay, big brother. I've got you. C'mon, you're gonna be okay. You're gonna be okay, Dean." Sam murmured the words like a mantra as he hefted his near lifeless brother into his arms and strode out to the Impala. He made quick work of settling Dean into the backseat before climbing into the driver's seat and peeling away from the abandoned warehouse.

The next few hours were some of Sam's worst. Nobody would tell him anything other than that Dean was in critical condition and in surgery. His hands were still shaking. He could still feel the damned blood speeding through his veins, and he really wished that Uriel or Castiel would show up so he could test his powers out on angels.

"Family of Dean Taylor?"

"That's me!"

His eagerness startled the young doctor for a moment before she regained her professionalism. "Your brother is out of surgery and resting in the ICU. He's in rough shape, and right now the odds of him waking up are stacked against him." She must have seen the crestfallen look on Sam's face, as she stumbled over her words and rushed to continue. "They're better than 50/50, which is reassuring, but we still have to be careful. There was a lot of swelling in his brain and trachea, and the blood loss was severe. What did you say did this to him?"

"I didn't," he replied quickly. "What room is he in?"

"Oh, um, Room 343. If you follow Amanda here, she'll take you to him."

Sitting beside his brother again, Sam buried his head in his hands before shaking himself mentally and sitting up. Now was not the time to fall apart. He needed to be strong, for Dean. Dean was too broken to protect himself, so Sam would do it for him. Sam would step up and take the heavy hits, because he knew he could handle it.

But what if Dean didn't wake up? What then? If Dean didn't wake up, what the Hell was the point of his powers? Who was he trying to protect if not his brother? Sure, he could protect a Hell of a lot of people by ganking Lilith, probably ganking Ruby, keeping Lucifer in his cage, and taking out every other demonic sonofabitch he came across, but the whole point of using his powers and getting stronger had been to get Dean out of Hell. If Dean died now, he'd surely go to Heaven, and Sam wouldn't be able to get him back from there. Worse, he probably wouldn't be able to join him there either, considering exactly what he was doing. There was no way he'd be making a trip upstairs any time soon. Dean may have made a deal with a crossroads demon to save him, but Sam had made a deal with the Devil to get him back. He couldn't back out now, not when he was so close to ending it all. But there was no point in ending anything if Dean didn't wake up.

Perhaps it was because his senses were still tingling from the blood, but Sam felt someone's eyes on him as he sat by his brother's side. Looking up, Sam spotted Castiel and felt a bolt of hatred shoot through him. How dare that bastard show his face around him when it was his fault Dean was in the hospital in the first place? Sam jolted out of his seat before he could even consider what he was about to do.

"Get in there. Miracle. NOW." All the blustering of John Winchester, tinged with the fear of the little boy that Sam hated feeling like.

"I can't."

Sam had never thought that he'd want to cause an angel pain, but at that moment, he wanted to rip Castiel out of the poor banker he was riding and bury him so deep in Hell he'd never find his way back out.

"You and Uriel put him in there—"

"No."

" _Yes!_ " Sam wanted to yell. He wanted to get up in Castiel's face and shout that it was his fault, not Sam's. Sam had saved Dean, even with all of Castiel's whining about his powers being bad or evil. But they had saved Dean, and saved Castiel from Alistair.

"—because you can't keep a simple Devil's Trap together!"

It was all Castiel's fault. Dean was in there because of his screw up. The angel may have been the one to save Dean from Hell, but Sam was the real hero. He'd actually killed Alistair. He'd saved his brother. He came through when it counted, and that was all that mattered.

Sam returned to Dean's room after a few more short words with the so-called Angel of the Lord, feeling pleased that he'd been able to do good even when the angel said he was doing bad. His good mood dissipated quickly when he saw that Dean was still asleep.

Sure, he'd saved the day. But all his power meant nothing if his big brother didn't wake up.

* * *

 **A/N:** There you have it. Hope you all enjoyed. I wish you all the best of weekends, and I shall see you on Tuesday, where we take a break from the angst for some slightly happier angst. Adieu.


	77. A Jimmy Stewart Acid Trip

**A/N:** Hey everybody! Hope everybody had a good weekend. Thanks to NightReader22, Sallyannerenee, spnfanforlife, Dragonsrule18, hectatess, Tempermental18, waitingforAslan, shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod, and celinenaville for the awesome reviews. I really appreciate all of your kindness. Without further ado, here's the chapter tagged to episode 4x17, _It's a Terrible Life_. Hope you all enjoy.

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

 **A Jimmy Stewart Acid Trip**

Sam Smith had just made it outside of the Sandover building when suddenly he was Sam Winchester again; a panicking Sam Winchester, but Sam Winchester nonetheless. His mind whirled around with thoughts of " _What the hell just happened?_ ", " _What the hell is going on?_ " and " _Where the hell is Dean?_ "

He remembered everything about being Sam Smith. He remembered countless days stuck in a cubicle. He remembered the heartbreak of his breakup with Madison. He remembered remembering Dean, and hunting with Dean, and feeling like Dean was the piece of himself that he'd been missing. With the joyous recollection of actually feeling like Dean's brother again came the pain of the knowledge that Dean had rejected him. Dean didn't want him around. At least, Dean Wesson hadn't wanted him around. But what if he was the only one who'd woken up from this weird acid trip? What if he walked back in there and found out that Dean was still a suit-wearing power-juicer?

"Dude, let's get the HELL out of Dodge!"

Sam half turned towards the door and saw Dean exiting the glass revolving door, shucking suit layers as he went.

"Dean?"

"I swear to God, we are not taking a case that involves the Feds for a month! If I have to wear another one of these monkey suits again in my life, it will be too soon!"

"Dean?"

"And that detox crap? Jeez, who came up with that? It tasted like crap, it smelt like ass, I'm pretty sure it _was_ ass!" Dean strode right by him, walking down the street towards where there were golden arches shining in the sky. "C'mon, Sammy, shake a leg! No man can live on that liquid garbage alone! I need carbs! I also need my Baby, my jacket, and all of our crap, but carbs first!"

"Dean!"

"What? What? WHAT?" Dean whined as he spun around on the sidewalk. "Seriously, dude! It's not like my first name changed in that Jimmy Stewart acid trip!"

Sam jogged a few steps to catch up to Dean as they continued to walk towards the McDonalds. "Why aren't you freaking out? I thought you'd be all gung-ho to find whatever Djinn put us in that freaky mind state."

Dean cast him a sideways glance. "You mean you didn't get a visit from the God Squad while you were waiting for me?"

Sam stopped dead in his tracks. "What?"

"Yeah, God Squad Douchebag Numero Uno paid me a visit right after I snapped out of it. Said the whole thing was a test, and that we passed with flying colors," Dean shrugged before pulling Sam out of the way of oncoming pedestrian traffic. "Should make you happy. Your passing record still stands." Dean waggled his eyebrows and gave Sam a shove to keep him moving towards the greasy deliciousness that is a Sausage McMuffin.

"Wait, what? What kind of test? And who visited you?"

Dean laughed as he held the door to the restaurant open, allowing a mother with a stroller in before gesturing Sam to enter. "And they call you the smart one." Their conversation was put on hold while they ordered breakfast, and did not resume until Dean had taken a bite of his sausage sandwich and sighed with pleasure. Sam rolled his eyes at his pancakes but smacked Dean on the back of the hand and urged him to continue. "Zachariah. Another one of God's friendly neighborhood messengers. Said it was a test or something. Apparently, we needed to remember what's important in our lives, and that hunting's in our blood."

Sam nodded understandingly before risking a look up at his brother. This was the closest they had come to actually talking in months, ever since Dean had told him about what happened in Hell, and he didn't want to set him off again, or make Dean push him away. "Because you don't think you can fight the Apocalypse, right?"

Dean laid his breakfast sandwich down and pressed his fingers into his forehead with his eyes closed, suddenly exhausted. "Somethin' like that, yeah."

Sam nodded again, and took a bite of his pancakes, thinking. It was nice, sitting there, talking to his brother over breakfast as though the past year and a half hadn't happened, despite the gloomy subject matter of their conversation. They hadn't been brothers in a long time, and Sam knew it was his fault. He'd let his brother go to Hell; he was the one who used his demon powers against Dean's wishes; he was the one who spewed forth those venomous words during the siren hunt. Sam knew that Dean saw actions as speaking louder than words, but he also knew that his words were ringing loud and clear in Dean's ears, and that his actions hadn't been one of a loving brother in a long time.

"You know you aren't going to be doing it alone, right?" he asked, coughing as a piece of pancake stuck in his throat, or, at least, that's what he told himself.

"Hmm?" Dean looked down at his sandwich with too much interest.

"The Apocalypse. You're not doing it alone."

Dean chuckled and grinned sadly. "Sure sounds like it's my ass up the creek without a paddle if I screw it up."

"Yeah, well, screw them! We're a team. We're brothers. No matter what, that's never gonna change. I know…I know we haven't been acting like one lately, but Dean! We kicked ass even when we didn't know each other from Adam! That's gotta be proof of something!"

Dean smiled—a real Dean smile this time—and took a bite of his sandwich with renewed gusto. "Damn straight!" he muttered through a mouthful of egg, cheese, sausage, and biscuit. "Bring on the Apocalypse!"

"That's gross, man."

Dean laughed heartily before downing half of his coffee. "Whatever, dude." They ate in silent, peaceful companionship for a few minutes before Dean cleared his throat. "That's not what you're wearing though, right? To stop the Apocalypse?"

Sam looked down at his mustard yellow shirt and khakis. "Shut up, jerk."

"Make me, bitch!"

A mother nearby gasped in horror and pulled her toddler in close as she shot them a scandalized look. When they laughed, she gathered her child into her arms and marched towards the counter.

"Damn, I think she's going to find a manager. Go, Sammy! Go!"

They jogged down the street, laughing as they went.

"So dude, where's the Impala?" Keys jingled as Dean held his keyring out to Sam, who began laughing immediately. "A Prius? Are you freaking kidding me?"

"Shaddup!"

"Make me!"

"You wanna walk?"

"You wouldn't dare…Dean?…Dean, come back! Not funny man! Dean! Dean!"

* * *

 **A/N:** Not gonna lie, this was supposed to be a happy chapter. But then they opened their mouths at McDonald's, and all the angst tumbled out. So. Happy angst. Definitely an oxymoron, but pretty sure it's a decent description of this show in general. Hope you all enjoyed it, and I shall see you all on Friday for more happy angst. Much love!


	78. Research

**A/N:** Boy, what a week. Hey everybody. It's been a day. Glad to be back home. Thanks to waitingforAslan, Sallyannerenee, Guest, SammysGirl42 (x2), Bjester74 (x2), Tomb Raider and Walking Dead, Dragonsrule18, DearHart, hectatess, shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod, Tempermental18, and spnfanforlife for making it less of a week with their awesome reviews. This chapter is tagged to 4x18, _The Monster at the End of This Book_. Not gonna lie, this one gets a little meta, if only because there's no way to write about this episode without getting meta. Hope you all enjoy.

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

 **Research**

" _ **Chapter 44**_

 _Dean had moved from the doorway and was sitting in a chair next to the mattress where Sam was lying. After Bobby left, Dean had drained the rest of the Jack, and started in on a bottle of whiskey. He wanted to be numb. He didn't want to feel anything, because what was there to feel but pain? Sam was gone, and there was nothing he could do about it. His little brother was dead. There was no fixing or stopping the pain inside of him, which burned in the space where his heart used to be. The words he never said echoed in his ears. Did Sam know how much he cared about him? Did Sam know that Dean never regretted or resented a single thing Sam had done, even those that Sam had intended to hurt him? Did Sam know just how proud his big brother was of him, for going to school and finding a girl and getting the hell out of the hunting life? Dean had never said them out loud, so how could Sam know? If only Dean had told him just how much he meant to him, maybe he would still be alive. Dean felt trepidation crawl up his spine at the very thought._

" _You know, when we were little…I mean, you couldn't've been more than five…You just started asking questions." Dean sniffled, fighting back the tears that had been threatening to fall, like a violent rainstorm, since the moment Sam collapsed into the mud. "How come we didn't have a mom? Why do we always have to move around? Where'd Dad go, when he'd take off for days at a time?" Dean stared with dead eyes at his still brother, praying to a God that he didn't believe in that Sam would open his eyes and it would all be a bad dream. "I remember I begged you, "Quit askin', Sammy. Man, you don't wanna know."" Dean smiled a bit at the memory of just the two of them, curled up on the couch in some rental house. The two of them against the world. It was all Dean ever needed. The smile faded as Sam remained unmoving, as though he was remembering that his world had just been cut in half._

" _I just wanted you to be a kid…just for a little while longer," he admitted softly. "I always tried to protect you. Keep you safe. Dad didn't even have to tell me; it was always just my responsibility, you know? It's like I had one job. I had one job…and I screwed it up." Dean's voice cracked, allowing the tears to flow into his voice, just as they were flowing down his face. "I blew it…and for that, I'm sorry." Dean reached a hand up and wiped away his tears. Tears weren't going to bring his brother back to him. They weren't going to rectify his mistake. They were useless. He was useless. He couldn't save Mom, or Dad, or Sam. What use would he be to Bobby in their attempt to save the world? What use would he be to anybody if he didn't have that stupid, egg-headed kid by his side? Sam was the smart one, the genius researcher with the puppy dog eyes that made witnesses melt. Dean was the one who dropped out of school so that he could take care of Sam when Dad had gotten so banged up he'd been laid up for a month. Now, Bobby probably wouldn't even talk to him._

" _I guess that's what I do," he admitted with a sad laugh. "I let down the people I love. I let Dad down. And now I guess I'm just supposed to let you down too." Dean shook his head at the very notion. He had never been able to deny Sam anything; how could he deny him his life? "How can I? How am I supposed to live with that? What am I supposed to do?" he pled. Sam was the one who knew how to live without him, not the other way around. He was out of his league, out of his depth, and so, so lost. "Sammy…" he sniffled, his heart cracking in two as Sam gave no reaction. "God," he gasped, trying to catch hold of his emotions as they slipped through the cracks. "What am I supposed to do?" Dean stood up on wobbly legs, his usual bow-legged stance rendered unsteady by both his emotions and the sheer amount of alcohol he had consumed. "What am I supposed to do?" he screamed, knocking his chair to the ground and throwing his bottle away._ "

Sam slammed the book shut and laid his trembling hand on the cover. He had never asked Dean what had happened when he was dead, and now that he knew, he felt like he had totally and completely invaded Dean's privacy. Carver Edlund hadn't written past Dean's going to Hell, so there was no way Dean could repay the favor and read about Sam digging Dean's grave or crying over him or pulling a gun on Bobby. Sam wasn't even sure he would tell Dean what happened in those days after New Harmony if he asked. His grief had been such a private, personal thing, especially knowing that his brother was in Hell because of him. Sam hated finding out that Dean had felt the same way.

"Hey, you make any more headway on finding out who Carver Edlund is and why he knows so friggin' much about us?" Dean greeted him as he entered the motel room, depositing their bagels and coffee on the kitchen table.

"Uhh…no. Haven't started yet."

Dean shot him a look. "Then what exactly have you been doing?"

Sam repressed the urge to roll his eyes. Obviously, it made sense for Dean to be suspicious, but he'd been honest. He was going to keep Dean in the loop when he went to see Ruby. He wouldn't tell him how he was getting stronger, only that they were closing in on Lilith. He wouldn't let Dean face the Apocalypse alone, especially not after what he'd just read. He'd always known that his brother put all the weight on his own shoulders, but he'd never seen just how much that weighed on him. It wasn't fair that his larger than life big brother had been reduced to…this, and, deep down, Sam knew that it wasn't fair of him to look at Dean as weak. Dean had come back from Hell, something nobody had ever done before. That took strength. It took so much strength that Dean's reserves had been dried up, and he wasn't capable of carrying as much weight as he usually did.

"I was, uh…I was reading."

"Reading what?" Dean glanced down and, before Sam could stop him, snatched the book out from under his hand. " _Supernatural_? Seriously? What, living through our garbage lives once wasn't good enough, now you want to look back and reminisce?"

"Hey, how do you know I'm not reading about Sarah? Or Jess? Or Ash? It wasn't all bad!"

Dean glared suspiciously over at him then looked down at the book. " _All Hell Breaks Loose_? What 'glory days' were you reliving, Sammy?" Before he could answer, Dean flipped the book over and read the back. " _Days away from his birthday, Sam is abducted by the Yellow Eyed Demon that killed their mother, and finds himself in a ghost town with other children who have special abilities. With the help of Bobby, Ellen, and Ash, Dean gets his brother back, but at what cost?_ " Dean glanced at Sam over the top of the book. He looked like a little kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "Why'd you want to read this, Sam?"

"I needed to know…" he replied quietly.

"To know? Know what?"

"I needed to know…you know…I don't know!" Sam clenched his fists and raised them to his head.

"Whoa, whoa! Easy man! It's a simple question, not the damn SATs!" Dean exclaimed, taking a seat next to Sam and yanking his hands down from his eyes. "I just wanna know why you chose that particular book. You coulda chosen a happy one." Dean paused as Sam shot him a one-eyed glare. "Okay, a _happier_ one. Instead you choose the one where you bite it?"

Sam shrugged. "I guess I just wanted to know what happened after…" Sam mumbled.

"After what?" Sam cocked an eyebrow at him in disbelief. "Wait, you wanted to know what happened after you died? Why?"

"I mean, I don't know where I was during that time. And I guess…I guess I wanted to see where your head was at too."

Dean closed his eyes and turned his head away from Sam. "Seriously? I thought you were over that."

"Knowing what you went through down there? No! How could I? Dean, you went to Hell—"

"Gee, Sammy, thanks for the reminder!"

"—for me." Sam looked up at Dean, who looked like he had just hit him. "You went to Hell for me. That's something I can never repay you for, but I'm trying. I guess I just wanted to know if…" Sam sighed, struggling to finish his sentence.

"If I regretted it?" Sam nodded quietly, and Dean cursed under his breath. "No, Sam. No, I don't."

"But—"

"I don't." Dean silenced him with a look, and Sam nodded, allowing the matter to drop. "Okay then. Let's see what we've got here… _Route 666_? What the hell is that about?"

"That's the one with the Ghost Truck. The case Cassie led us to," Sam replied, opening his laptop and settling down to do some actual research.

"Aha! There's some memories in there that I wouldn't mind reliving!" Dean laughed as he threw himself down on his bed.

"Gross, dude."

"It's an act of nature, Sammy! Nothin' gross about it!"

"Yeah, well, that doesn't mean I wanna hear about it."

"Haha, prude."

"Perv."

"Bitch."

"Jerk!"

* * *

 **A/N:** And there you have it. Done for another week. Please review. Please have an awesome weekend. Adieu.


	79. Big Brother Knows Best

**A/N:** Howdy everybody! Hope everyone had an amazing weekend. Today was a bit of a day. I had to go and write a 'Language Proficiency Test', which involved writing a 300 word essay in 75 minutes, so I'm a little bitter about wasting an hour doing that. Oh well. Thanks to carrie4262, Sallyannerenee, spnfanforlife, Dragonsrule18, hectatess, NightReader22 (x2), SammysGirl42, DearHart, waitingforAslan, shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod, Guest, celinenaville, and Tempermental18 for the awesome reviews. Glad you guys liked the last chapter so much!

So, this chapter is tagged to 4x19, _Jump the Shark_. Dedicated to the one character the writers seem to have forgotten about. Hope you all enjoy.

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

 **Big Brother Knows Best**

Adam Milligan.

Adam Milligan-Winchester.

Another Winchester. Another kid born into a screwed up, cursed as Hell family. Sure, he was only half Winchester, but, with their luck, he had inherited all the bad crap that got the majority of them killed. It wasn't fair that the kid—that _innocent_ kid—had been cursed since the moment he'd been conceived, all because John hadn't been able to keep it in his pants.

And, _God_ , what would Mary think? All that talk about being soulmates and the other person's perfect half, all pissed down the drain because John had been too drunk or too doped up or too loopy or too stupid to walk away that night so many years ago.

And what about the two kids he already had? The kids that he'd probably dumped at a motel somewhere so he could go out and get lucky, leaving a 10-year-old Dean to care for his younger brother. Or was Adam conceived on the night of Dean's birthday, when John had been so hammered after losing a victim on a Vitala hunt that he'd completely forgotten to go home and give his son the baseball he'd actually, honest-to-God _bought_ for his kid because after the shtriga hunt he'd sworn up, down, and sideways to both himself and Mary that he'd be a better father? Who knew? Who could tell? All that was known was that there was another Winchester boy thrown into the already screwed up mix, except that kid got a Dad, whereas the other two got a drill sergeant.

And there was nothing Dean could do about it. He couldn't go back in time, grab Dad before he went to Minnesota, and yell " _What about Mom, you son of a bitch?_ " He couldn't call Castiel and get him to go back and save Adam's mom so that Adam would never call John and they would never have to show up to meet their half-brother. Rather, so they'd never have to show up and take down the ghoul wearing their half-brother's face.

" _Don't you think you were a little hard on him?_ " Sam had asked, when they left Ghoul Adam at Real Adam's house to explain the blood in the vents.

Dean had kept his eyes on the pile of weapons he was methodically cleaning after his long, hot shower. He hadn't felt the need to look up or even attempt to explain to Sam why he had been so quick to dismiss Adam as a member of their family or why he hadn't shared more information with him about Dad.

Sam didn't get it. He'd never been the big brother before. He'd only ever been Little Brother. Maybe he'd always wanted a younger sibling but never told Dean about it because of his admittedly violent reactions to talking about Mom while they were younger. Maybe he'd wanted a taste of how Dean felt every damn day. Who knew what had been going through the kid's mind when he chose to tell Adam about monsters, or taught him how to shoot a gun, or given him the same damn speech John had given Sam a thousand times before about how they couldn't have connections outside of the hunting world? Point is, Sam just didn't get it. No matter how hard he tried, he would never get it.

It was Dean's privilege and honor to carry the weight of Sam's troubles. As a big brother, he saw it as his duty, maybe even his birthright as the oldest of the Winchester offspring. Still, the kid was damn heavy to carry across the finish line. Dean already had the weight of Sam (and the rest of the world) resting on his Hell weakened shoulders; he didn't know how much more he could add before he collapsed under the pressure. And, if he did collapse, that left the world up to the eyeballs in trouble of the supernatural variety, and Sam at the mercy of those angels who still hadn't clarified on what they meant by 'stopping Sam'.

'Stopping Sam' was another issue. Dean had already failed his brother. He'd tried so damn hard to keep Sam safe, and innocent, and protected from all the creepy stuff that pervaded their lives like a thick stench. Yet, he had dropped the ball again, and again, and again. So many years ago, he'd let the shtriga almost kill his brother because he'd had an angsty pre-teen moment. He'd dragged Sam back into hunting back at Stanford because he'd gotten lonely and missed his little brother. Azazel and his demon blood, and the Gifted Children, and Cold Oak. He only had one soul to give, and he'd already bartered it away for Sam's life. Besides, it wasn't like his soul was worth much anymore. He wasn't that great of a big brother either, it turned out. He'd died so that Sam could live, and he'd come back to find someone else standing where his little brother should have been.

When it came down to it, Dean allowed himself to be selfish. Would it have been awesome to have another little brother? A few years ago, yeah, Dean would have been stoked to have another little brother. If John had been there and introduced them and taken them all to a baseball game or something, Dean would have been excited to know that their family had grown. He probably would've been able to accept Kate into their family too, despite the lack of relationship between her and his father. But now? With the Apocalypse and the 66 Seals and Lilith and the angels breathing down his neck, and that bottom feeding demon bitch still snooping around? Dean had too much on his mind and on the go to be able to take on anything else, even if that something else included another little brother to be protected and taught the ways of being a Winchester.

In a way, Dean was happy he hadn't let himself get too attached to Adam. Finding his body had been a shock and he had felt a twinge of guilt at not being there to protect him and a blast of anger towards his father for not telling him about Adam in the first place, but his first priority had been, as always, to get back to and protect Sam. Because Sam was his brother. He had grown up with and taught and raised the kid from the time he was six months old. Adam was a stranger to him. Big Brother Dean had only ever known one Little Brother, and lifelong habits like that were hard to break.

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 **A/N:** Thanks for reading, everybody! And please have a safe, happy, and healthy week and Easter (if you celebrate)! See you next time.


	80. Humanity

**A/N:** Hey everybody! Hope everybody had a good week. Mine has been stressful to say the least, so I'm glad it's the weekend so I can try to relax a bit! Thanks to waitingforAslan, sallyannerenee, hectatess, Bjester74, Tempermental18, spnfanforlife, and shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod for the reviews.

This chapter is tagged to 4x20, _The Rapture_ , and it focuses on a character(s) that I haven't paid much attention to in terms of this story. Hope I wrote him/them okay. Please review!

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

 **Humanity**

Back when the world was new, Castiel had been one of Heaven's most loyal servants. He performed the assignments he was tasked with admirably, and he never complained. He fought with dozens of Heavens mightiest by his side, and prayed each night that they would all see another morning. He cared for them, and they cared for him. They were a family.

When he was given command of a battalion and commanded to march into Hell and raise Dean Winchester from perdition, he did what he was told, though he knew that many of his brothers and sisters would lose their lives. He knew Dean Winchester's importance in the grand scheme of his Father's plan, and would not fail Him.

When it became clear that Dean Winchester was most likely going to waste his second chance at life, and that he was as clueless as the rest of humanity when it came to the 66 Seals and the Apocalypse, Castiel found a vessel and cast himself down to Earth to provide guidance for the stubborn human.

He found Dean and his demon blood-addicted brother to be irritating and recalcitrant—less so than his brothers and sisters found them, but his less than cordial feelings towards them were still there. The way that Dean continuously fought back against his requests and did what was best for himself and his brother instead of what was best for the world his Father had created. The way that Sam was disinclined to follow both his and his brother's order that he stop fraternizing with the Hell spawn, Ruby. They did not believe in the predestination that had been written by God and His Scribe, and obviously saw themselves as the masters of their own fates. Still, Castiel followed Dean Winchester's lead, as he had been ordered. Uriel had been less than pleased, but Michael had been adamant. He needed his vessel strong and confident, and he needed reassurance that his brothers and sisters would be willing to follow him when he took on his Earthly form. So, Castiel obeyed. He obeyed Michael and he allowed Dean to make his own decisions.

Still, he could not understand the obsession the other angels had with the Winchesters. They were…odd, to say the least. He would not dare relate them to the squirming maggots or fumbling baboons Uriel or Balthazar so often called them, but they were indefinitely set in their ways. The way that Dean so quickly set out to find his younger sibling after Castiel had rescued him. The way that Dean had been so quick to dismiss the idea that Castiel was an angel of the Lord. And yet, he was not quite as interesting as Sam. Sam's actions, as he had been forewarned by Michael, screamed inhuman and evil, and yet his intentions seemed to be pure. He seemed to want more, to want better for both himself and his brother. Though Castiel could see Lucifer's likeness within him, he was also taken aback by the genuine good radiating from Sam's soul. Though he was marked, he still wanted to do good by the world and by his brother.

Despite this, however, Castiel was first and foremost a servant of the Lord, and the Winchester brothers were merely pawns in his Father's holy plan. So, he would continue to prepare them for the days ahead, as unwilling as they proved to be.

* * *

They were just…well, he didn't want to call them kids because the oldest was probably only 10 years younger than him, but that's what they were. Kids. Boys, being tossed around by these supposedly Heavenly beings and their much darker counterparts. Castiel called them 'pawns' once, early on in his time possessing his body. He couldn't believe the coldness, the uncaring nature of the actual, real life angel currently residing within him. He treated those boys like mere things, and apparently sought to bend them both to his Father's will.

James Novak was a pious man. He went to church on Sundays and on the Holy Days. He prayed before meals. He rarely cursed. He embodied the virtues of patience and love that he believed were the foundations of the religion he had subscribed to since he had been old enough to know what religion was. And yet, he found himself disappointed by the lack of divine warmth he felt that he had been promised. Where was the angel who foretold the coming of the Lord's Son? Where were the angels who sang the praises of the babe born in a manger? These angels were so…Old Testament. All fire and brimstone and righteous anger, especially towards humans. Especially towards Sam and Dean Winchester.

Jimmy spent most of his time screaming at Castiel that they were just boys. He believed that he had convinced him once, but then the angel inside of him had been taken to task by Uriel, and he found himself once again pleading with his angelic co-pilot to leave the Winchester boys be. Why couldn't he see that Dean was petrified by what had occurred to him in Hell? Why couldn't Castiel understand that, by taking Dean to torture the demon Alistair, they had only been tearing the broken man down further and further? Why couldn't they see that Sam, though vastly in the wrong, was only a little boy, terrified that his brother would be taken from him again, thus fighting back the only way he knew how?

And yet, despite, or, perhaps, because of, the utter lack of love he felt for the angel currently possessing him, Jimmy was willing to die so that he could live. Moreover, he was willing to die so that Castiel never got his uncaring hands on his precious daughter, Claire. Perhaps he hoped that his ultimate sacrifice would show Castiel the goodness in humanity. Perhaps he hoped that, by allowing himself to die, he would get to see that the Bible was not as filled with lies as he had come to believe. Perhaps he had hope in Castiel, hope that he would be able to rebel against his superiors and help save the Winchester boys, rather than aid in tearing them apart.

Whatever his reasoning, it became clear to Castiel that, though he was the one with thousands of years of experience with humans, they were always good for a surprise. Jimmy Novak had surprised him. Perhaps Sam and Dean could surprise him as well.

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 **A/N:** Ahh, Cas and Jimmy. A symbiotic relationship for the ages. Hope I wrote them okay. Everyone have a fantastic weekend/Easter, and I shall see you all on Tuesday!


	81. Useless

**A/N:** Hey everybody. Hope you all had a good weekend/holiday. My stress levels hit an all-time high this week, but things are looking up now. Thanks to Dragonsrule18, shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod, Tempermental18, spnfanforlife, and waitingforAslan for the awesome reviews. I'm hoping it was because of the long weekend that there were so few reviews. If it wasn't, and the last couple of chapters haven't been your fancy, please let me know. I'm trying to figure out how I went from 13 reviews a chapter to 5. I want to know if I'm doing something wrong.

So…here's the penultimate chapter of the season 4 episodes, tagged to 4x21, _When the Levee Breaks._ Angst on angst on angst, y'all. Thanks to Bjester74 for giving it a look. Enjoy, and **please review**.

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

 **Useless**

Splinters of wood pierced the tender flesh of his palms, but he knew that the pain wouldn't register until later. At the present moment, his pain didn't matter. His physical wounds were inconsequential in light of what they were facing now. The pain in his chest, however, was right there at the forefront of his mind, overshadowing every other hurt he could possibly be feeling.

Sam was in there. Sam, his little brother, was chained up in Bobby's panic room like a common criminal, and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. He knew; he'd tried. He'd told Sam that the path he was walking was a dangerous one. He'd begged him before his death not to go down that particular road. He'd fought him and gotten high-handed with him in hopes that his overbearing nature would snap his little brother out of the funk he had worked himself into. He'd even gone after that lying demonic bitch in an attempt to free his brother from whatever spell she had cast over him. But he had failed. He failed his little brother, and now he was screaming for Dean to help him. Only problem was, Dean didn't know how to anymore.

Dean clenched his eyes, gritted his teeth, and fought the urge to cover his ears as Sam cried out for him again. He started when he felt a gentle hand weigh on his shoulder.

"C'mon upstairs, son. There's nothing you can do down here."

Bobby's voice was low and calming, as though he were talking to a wild animal, but Dean was already shaking his head.

"Can't leave, Bobby. Can't leave him down here by himself."

"Dean, he doesn't even know you're down here."

"Doesn't matter. _I_ know."

Dean had already tried once to enter the panic room, and it hadn't ended well, which was why he was sitting on the rickety old staircase directly across from the heavy iron door.

After they had tricked Sam into the room, Dean had given his brother a few hours to cool off (and given himself the time to wash the sour sting of his betrayal out of his mouth. He hated tricking Sammy. Hated it.) before entering the dark room. Sam had been sitting on the cot in the middle of the room, looking so much like the little boy that Dean had loved more dearly than his own existence that Dean couldn't help himself. He had crossed the room and knelt beside Sam, a gentle hand on his knee.

" _Sammy?"_

" _You gotta let me out, Dean…" Sam whispered._

" _You know I can't, buddy. You're sick. This blood…it's messing with your mind. Once you get clean of it, you'll feel better."_

 _Sam looked up at his brother with his sad, brown eyes. "And what if I don't get better, Dean? What if I'm always gonna be your blood sucking freak of a baby brother? What are you going to do then?"_

" _You're gonna get better, Sam. You're gonna be fine, I'll make sure of it."_

 _A cold, humorless chuckle left Sam's lips as his expression morphed into something…dark. "You'll make sure of it…Like the way you saved my life by going to Hell? You started all this by making that deal for my life…You should've just left me dead like Dad said…then I wouldn't be so broken."_

 _A chill ran up Dean's spine at the emotionless tone of his brother's voice and the words that were tumbling out of his mouth like acid. "Sam…you don't mean that…"_

" _Don't I?" Sam looked at him, and Dean thought he saw a flash of black in his iris. "If I'm broken, it's because you broke me, Dean. This is all your fault…"_

Dean had fled the room then, barred the door, and heaved. It was half an hour later that Sam had hesitantly called out to him and begged him, again, to release him and apologized for lying, but by that point Dean had been past listening, too wrapped up in Sam's previous words to hear the apology.

It _was_ his fault. If he hadn't gone to Hell, he never would have left Sam vulnerable to Ruby's twisted mind games. If he hadn't broken, the 66 Seals would still be intact and Sam wouldn't feel the need to use his powers to kill Lilith. _He_ had done this to his brother, and that thought sickened him to his very core.

What's more, Dean was useless in changing it. He couldn't save Sam from himself, as much as he wanted to. That's why he was sitting on Bobby's basement steps, staring at the heavy iron door as though his gaze would be able to melt it. He may not have been able to change Sam's condition, he may not have been able to enter the room to help his brother through his sickness, but he could sit out there and listen to his screams. He could force himself to listen to his baby brother's screams as punishment for his failures.

"You're doin' him no good by sitting here, torturing yourself, Dean," Bobby murmured. "Come upstairs and help me look for something to help him."

" _Guys! Get down here! Something's coming!_ "

Dean winced at the sound of his brother's pleading voice, and turned his pleading gaze to Bobby.

"Balls," the older man muttered, putting his hand under Dean's elbow and heaving him up. "We're gonna get a drink and have a chat. Upstairs now, c'mon."

Bobby hated this whole situation. He could feel gray hairs growing in with every hoarse scream that left Sam's mouth and every tremble that coursed through Dean's body. He hated not knowing how to help Sam purge his body of the demonic drug that was poisoning his system. He hated not knowing how to show Dean that he wasn't useless like he thought, 'cause he knew that was exactly what the boy was thinking. Bobby knew how much Dean hated feeling useless, and that the position that Sam had put him in left him feeling even more useless than usual. He wanted to find a way to show Dean that it wasn't true, that it was the drug in Sam's system talking, not Sam, but Bobby knew Dean wouldn't believe him. The only person he would believe, unfortunately, was the person who had laid him low in the first place.

Bobby cursed under his breath as he poured both himself and Dean a healthy dose of hunter's helper. He yearned for the simpler times, when Bobby watched Dean, and Dean watched Sam, and Sam looked at Dean like a hung the damn stars. But this was the impending Apocalypse, and hearts were bound to be broken. And the way he was going at it, it looked like Dean's would be the first to crack. The damn kid would go to whatever demon hooker he could find and try to make a deal to save Sam from himself. Bobby would bet his own blackened soul on it. It was a vicious cycle with those idjit Winchesters, and Bobby was sick of it. He was sick of watching that poor boy sacrifice himself again and again for the people he cared about, not caring about the broken hearts he left in his wake. But if he could convince Dean to allow Sam to use his powers, take out Lilith, and avert the Apocalypse, maybe Bobby could break the cycle. Maybe he could save both of his boys from a world of heartache. Sure, it would be like asking a horse to tap dance, trying to get Dean to let Sam make the sacrifice play, but _balls_ if it wouldn't be worth it in the end.

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 **A/N:** Thanks so much for reading. Have a good week, and I will see you again on Friday!


	82. Ruby

**A/N:** Hello everyone! I hope everyone had a good week! I had a bit of a better week. Still tired, but in that "It was a good week" kind of way. Thanks to Bjester74, NightReader22 (x2), Sallyannerenee (x2), SammysGirl42, Dragonsrule18, Colby's girl, hectatess, Tempermental18, celinenaville, and shadowhuntingdautlessdemigod for the amazingly awesome reviews.

Okay, so this is the last chapter of season 4! It's kind of amazing how quickly that went by. So, obviously this one is tagged to 4x22, _Lucifer Rising_. It's a little different from basically everything I've done before, and that's all I'm gonna say other than that the idea came from Bjester74. Please enjoy and review.

* * *

 **Ruby**

"…I don't blame him after what I did."

Well, damn. If that wasn't just the black cherry on top of her otherwise perfect freaking day. He'd already almost drained her dry, then she had to go toe to toe with Big Brother Dean. The last thing she needed was precious Sammy Winchester backing out on her now. And yet, she felt a twinge in the spot where her heart used to lay.

Sam was special; there was no denying it. He was so unlike everyone else she had ever met. He took bad things and tried to make them good. When his girlfriend died, he'd dedicated himself to revenge against Azazel. When he found out about the other Demon Children, he tried to help them rather than hunt them. When he found out about his powers, he was willing to try to turn them into something good. In Ruby's mind, that made the things Dean said unnecessarily harsh and completely untrue. But she could see where Dean was coming from, loathe as she was to admit it. Sam was different than he had been when she met him two years ago. He was hard when he used to have more give. He was more practical than the emotional wreck she had come into contact with following the revelation of his brother's deal. The light that used to surround him had dimmed considerably, and Ruby knew it was her own fault.

Azazel had set the wedge between Sam and Dean when he had placed that seed of doubt in Dean's mind about how much of Sam he had brought back from the dead, but Ruby had been the one to hammer it home and split the nigh unbreakable bond that had been fostered between the two brothers since birth.

She gave them the knife, but didn't tell them who she was.

She helped them fix the Colt, but didn't tell them it wouldn't work on certain beings.

She told Sam she could save Dean, then ripped the hope away from him like a bandage on a still-festering wound.

She told Dean about the coming war, but didn't mention that his brother would be the one to start it.

Part of her even felt bad about it. If she had had someone like Dean in her life when she was still human, she might've ended up someplace better than Hell. If she'd had someone to pull her back from the edge, someone willing to _die_ for her, she never would have become a witch, and she never would have turned into a demon. But she hadn't had any of that. She'd been abandoned as a girl, and somehow wound up being one of the chess masters in the great game of the Apocalypse.

That was that part of her that bade her to say, "Well, after we're done, you guys will patch things up. You always do."

And they _always_ did. Four years of Stanford, multiple deaths, 40 years in Hell, and those damn Winchesters overcame it all. It would be sweet if it wasn't so damn irritating. It just made her job all that more difficult.

All she wanted was her Apocalypse. After a century of burning in Hell, she thought she deserved it. Besides, she'd done what the others hadn't been able to do. Azazel had failed, spectacularly. Got himself a one-way ticket to that one place that was worse than Hell. Alistair had broken Dean, but not completely. The guy should have been shattered, absolutely destroyed by his time down under, and yet he still had it in him to come after her. But she… _she_ had done it. She had torn brother away from brother, and prepared her Demon Prince for the uprising.

Now wasn't the time to be feeling bad about what she had done. Now was the time to claim her just rewards. She would help Sam tamper down his feelings of guilt over Dean and the nurse they had kidnapped. She would help Sam kill Lilith and start the Apocalypse. Then, she would take her place at Sam's right hand. They could rule, together; her and her Demon Prince.

Yes, she had grown to care for Sam over the two years she had known him. He was irritatingly honest and stupidly moral, but his kindness to her and his fierce determination to protect her from Dean had touched her. Yes, she had played him over and over again, leaving him craving her blood, knowing how desperate it would make him, but of all her toys, he was her favourite. She didn't want him to be the miserable, whiny ass she had found after Dean's death when he was ruling demon-kind. She wanted him to be happy, and Dean made him happy. So, in a way, she wanted them to make up. She had seen how much stronger Sam was when he was fighting for his brother, and she had halfway convinced herself that Dean would be an asset to her cause when he had busted into the church and ruined it all. Well…almost.

Lucifer was free. She had done it. Despite the odds being stacked against her, she had completed her mission, and she would be thanked for it. Lucifer would thank her, and Sam, for what they had done. They would rule at his side, and take the world as their own. It would be awesome.

"It's too late…" she gloated at Dean as he burst through the doors. He couldn't stop this, and her Lord of Darkness would protect her if he tried.

"I don't care," Dean snarled. He stalked towards her as the light surrounding them grew brighter and brighter. She smiled at him, knowing she could overpower him in a second. She'd been doing it all year. She was stronger than him.

Sam's arms wrapped around her, leaving her defenseless against the knife that Dean thrust into her heart. Her knife. She had forgotten that the Winchesters, fractured and broken as they may seem, are always stronger together. It had slipped her mind that, no matter how much she had dimmed Sam's radiant glow, Dean always made him glow brighter. And she just had to wish them back together. Damn.

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 **A/N:** Thank you for reading, and I hope you all enjoyed! Have a fantastic, love filled week, and I will see you all on Tuesday.


	83. The Price of Trust

**A/N:** So, I'm pretty sure I haven't been on the computer since I posted Friday's update. How sad/scary is that? Super slammed this week…Hey guys! Welcome back! Hope everybody had a relaxing weekend and a good start to the week! I'd like to thank carrie4262, Sallyannerenee, hollyhobbit101, Tempermental18, Colby's girl, celinenaville, Dragonsrule18, hectatess, SammysGirl42, and shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod for their awesome reviews! You guys sure know how to make an author feel loved.

So, here we go with the first foray into season 5! I hope you guys enjoy, and I hope I can get my butt in gear long enough to write the rest of this season, because I am falling behind! This is the tag to 5x01, _Sympathy for the Devil_. Enjoy!

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

 **The Price of Trust**

In truth, Sam had been waiting for the other shoe to drop ever since the demon pretending to be Bobby had told him that there was no coming back from what he had done and Dean hadn't said anything in his defense. His brother always came to his defense, whether he was on the right side of things or not. In Dean's mind, the only person who had the right to give Sam crap was him and, growing up, their father, so Sam knew that Dean wasn't as gung-ho about the situation as he let on. And, honestly, it was no less than Sam had expected. Really, he expected worse. He _deserved_ worse.

He had freed the _Devil_. Satan, Lucifer, the Prince of Darkness. Whatever you wanted to call him, he had been freed from his cage after centuries because he had been too stubborn, too selfish, too _stupid_ to see what he was doing. He had betrayed his brother, beaten him and called him weak. He had killed a woman, all because he'd wanted to prove to Dean that he was stronger and smarter than he'd ever given him credit for. He'd been arrogant in believing that he'd been one step ahead of Ruby, when in fact she'd been playing him like a well-tuned piano the whole time. Now, Bobby was in the hospital, unable to walk, because Sam had once again led demons straight to their front door.

"I tried, Sammy. I mean, I really tried. But I just can't keep pretending that everything's alright. Because it's not. And it's never gonna be. You chose a _demon_ over your own brother! And look what happened."

Sam almost wanted to object. He wanted to say that it had never been a choice between Dean and Ruby, not for him. Dean was the one who set him that ultimatum, even when Sam had begged him to trust him because Sam had always put his trust in Dean. Yet, he couldn't because he knew Dean was right. He had allowed himself to be led around by the nose by someone who, for all intents and purposes, was related to the thing that had killed both his mother and his girlfriend. He had thrown his family under the bus like he was yesterday's news because, at that moment, Dean had been. In that hotel suite, Dean had just been the broken golden boy, while Sam was the powerful one who would actually get the job done. He had targeted Dean's every fear and weakness in that fight, spewing venomous words with an intent to harm. And they did.

"I would give anything— _anything_ —to take it all back," Sam replied in a broken voice.

Dean nodded his head slowly. "I know you would…and I know how sorry you are; I do," Dean's voice was almost soft, and was tinged with a grief that made Sam's heart ache. It was a tone he hadn't heard since he was a young child who had worked himself into an emotional breakdown because he'd gone to the park without Dean and gotten himself lost. His brother had found him eventually and listened to his hiccupped apologies, and it was that tone of disappointment and fear and underlying hurt that had assured him that everything was going to be okay. "But, man, you were the one I depended on the most. And you let me down in ways that I can't even—" Dean broke off with a shuddery breath, letting Sam know that Dean was about ten steps away from losing control. In a way, that made Sam feel even worse than what Demon Bobby had said. Sam hated when Dean cried, but he hated it even more when he knew he was the cause.

Sam opened his mouth to apologize, again, even though he knew it was beyond useless. No words could fix this.

"I'm just—I'm having a hard time forgiving and forgetting here, you know?" Dean's voice cracked, and he broke eye contact, looking back at St. Martin's Hospital.

"What can I do?" Sam asked pleadingly. He didn't know how he could fix what he had broken, how to mend the bond that he had shattered with his fists and words back at the hotel, but Dean could've been an engineer. He could fix anything. He could fix them, the way he always had. Dean was always the one mending bridges, and, even though Sam hated that he had come to rely on Dean always being the one to make the first move, he would take full advantage of it now.

Dean smiled a sad sort of grin and looked up at him. "Honestly? Nothing." Sam looked down and nodded. He'd expected as much. He had made this mess. He couldn't rely on Dean to clean it up, not anymore. He wasn't a kid anymore. He'd have to fix this himself, no matter how long it took. "I just don't…I don't think that we can ever be what we were. You know?" Sam's responding nod was tiny as he felt the rock slowly forming in his stomach sink even further. Again, this came as no surprise. The bond that they had shared was difficult to put into words, but not so difficult to break, it seemed. Sam had done it unknowingly, unwittingly, accidentally. Like a toddler holding a delicate glass ornament, in trying to protect it he had gripped too hard and shattered it with his own hands. He willed himself not to tear up at the knowledge, but it was a close thing. "I just don't think I can trust you."

It would have been better if Dean had hit him. If Dean had hit him over and over again, it would have been less painful. Dean's trust was one of his most treasured possessions. For most people, earning Dean's trust was a hard-won battle, but Sam had been gifted it on the day he was born. He knew he had been Dean's most trusted companion since day one. Not Dad, not Bobby. Sam. The two of them, watching each other's backs. The two of them against the world. Now it was gone. Sam had destroyed what other people spent entire lifetimes vying after. People always romanticized the notion of someone being willing to die for them, but Sam hadn't needed a romantic partner, hadn't needed Jess, to show him what that was like. He'd had that level of love and devotion in his brother, his best friend. In all his years of walking away from Dean, he had never once hurt Dean so much that he couldn't trust him anymore, but now, he had done just that. He'd hurt his brother, shattered their bond, and destroyed the trust that he had cherished as much as Dean cherished the amulet that he wore every day.

Sam caught sight of said amulet as Dean rounded the car and paused only briefly to glance at him with pain-filled eyes. Bobby had told him to give it to the person he trusted most in this world and, though it had been meant as a gift to his father, Bobby's words be damned, it had ended up going to just that person. And Dean had never once taken it off. It had bounced against his chest on early morning runs. It irritated the ladies Dean brought home because it was always hitting them in the face and neck. Dean had gone ballistic more than once in various hospitals when they'd tried to remove it.

Sam had always known that Dean's actions spoke louder than any blustering threats he threw out into the world, but it wasn't until that moment that he realized how much that stupid, ugly little necklace reflected that facet of Dean's psyche. Dean wore that worn leather cord and little bronze hobgoblin every day since he was 10 years old to show to the rest of the world that he cared about his little brother and that his little brother cared right back. That they were a unit; a team. So, Sam knew then that no apology would make up for anything he had done, no matter how heartfelt and tearful it was. Sam needed to prove it. He would fall in line. He'd do everything Dean said, not because he was the Michael Sword, but because he was Dean, and Dean was his big brother, and Sam had hurt his big brother. He'd prove to Dean that he was trustworthy and loveworthy and that being part of that team was more important than anything to him. He'd do whatever it took. He'd go toe-to-toe with Lucifer himself if he had to. If that was the price of Dean's trust, he'd do it.

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 **A/N:** Well, I'm gonna go sleep until I have another 12 hour shift. Which is tomorrow. Please help me through with reviews. Have an awesome week and I'll see you on Friday!


	84. Disjointed

**A/N:** Exhaustion is a good word for how I'm feeling, but it's the weekend, so I'm not gonna bitch about my week. I hope everyone is happy and healthy! I'd also like to thank Sallyannerenee, Bjester74, zekeschance, spnfanforlife (x3), Colby's girl, Dragonsrule18, hectatess, shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod, celinenaville, lenail125, and Tempermental18 for the awesome reviews. Really perked up my spirits.

So, this one is tagged to 5x02, _Good God, Y'All_. Painful episode, and I hope I do it justice. Enjoy!

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

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 **Disjointed**

This wasn't working. They both knew it. This, _they_ , were just not working anymore.

It was an odd feeling to come to grips with. Their entire lives, it had just been the two of them. John had been in and out of their lives. Bobby was great, but visits to South Dakota were sporadic at best. The other hunters their father trusted weren't exactly people they would want to hang out with on a regular basis. So, it was always Sam'n'Dean. Hunting together, driving together, looking out for each other like it was second nature, because it was. But now, after everything they'd been through, working together felt…unnatural. They were disjointed.

Sam could only blame himself. He hated what he had done, hated knowing that no amount of apologizing would fix what he had broken. He hated knowing that Dean didn't trust him anymore. Even more, he hated that he couldn't trust himself. Not being able to control his instincts, his urges, was horrific. It almost reminded him of being possessed by Meg. Whenever he came close to demon blood, he was no longer in control of his own mind and body. The blood within him took control, and Sam hated it.

That's why he had to walk away. If Dean didn't trust him, and he didn't trust him, he was no good to anybody. He wouldn't watch Dean get hurt because Sam lost control. He couldn't do that to his brother again.

Still, he expected a fight. He expected to see Dean's big brother persona break out from wherever Dean had locked him and throw a fit about not abandoning family. He hoped that Big Brother Dean would look at him and say that Sam wasn't a liability, and that they could fix things together, and that Sam would always be his little brother, no matter what mistakes he had made. Hell, he would've even settled for Dean the Soldier refusing to allow Sam to walk away from the war he had started. He would've happily listened to the canned John Winchester lecture pour out of Dean's mouth about cleaning up his own mess if it just meant that Dean was fighting for him to stay. He would've even settled for a simple 'No'. He had promised himself that he would follow Dean's orders, prove himself again to his brother, so if Dean ordered him to stay, he would.

" _I think you're right,_ " was the last thing he expected to hear. Truthfully, he felt like he should've expected it though. Ever since Castiel had asked for the amulet and Dean had willingly handed it over, Sam had felt disconnected from his brother. He knew it made no sense, especially considering what he had done, but he felt like Dean had tossed them away, like Dean was just giving up on them. It hurt knowing that his big brother trusted an angel more than he trusted him.

Walking away from Dean was one of the hardest things he'd ever had to do. Burying Jess and Dad came a close second, but he'd at least had Dean there to help him through that loss. Now, he was on his own. After everything he'd done to keep Dean safe and out of Hell and by his side, he'd lost him anyway.

* * *

It went against every fiber of his being, but he had to let Sam go. He had no choice. If Sam wanted out, he had to let him out. This was the Apocalypse. Lucifer had stepped onto the playing field, and Dean had to bench his weakest players. Bobby had a mind as sharp as a tack, but he couldn't walk, so he would have to sit this one out. And Sam…he couldn't trust Sam. The kid was so angry all the time, and Dean was afraid that if he got one whiff of demon blood, he'd go full on demon bitch again. Dean couldn't be a big brother or Bobby's kid anymore. He had to step up to the plate and take down the freaking devil.

He forced himself to watch Sam walk away from him, and it was one of the hardest things he'd ever had to do. He'd done it so many times already, but it never got any easier. Knowing that it was with his permission that Sam was leaving made it even worse. He wished he could've pleaded with Sam to stay, to force him to stick it out, but he was afraid of setting Sam off again like he had in that basement. He wished he could've forgiven Sam, but damn him, he couldn't. It wasn't even that Sam had let Lucifer out of his box. If they had gone to kill Lilith together, they would've busted Lucifer's Cage anyway. It was that, given the choice, Sam had picked Ruby, and that wasn't something Dean could easily forget or even forgive. It didn't help that he felt naked without the amulet. He hated that he'd given it to Cas, but the angel hadn't exactly given him a choice. If Cas could find God, then maybe taking out the Devil wouldn't be so difficult. Still, that amulet, as girly as it sounded, had come to represent that Sam and Dean Winchester were a united front, that they'd always be there for one another.

Out of habit, Dean reached for the little bronze thing hanging around his neck as he watched Sam get into a stranger's truck and drive away. He knew it wouldn't be there, but it had been a part of him for so long that it felt weird not having it there. Just like it would feel weird not to have Sam there.

Dean couldn't believe it had been four years since he had picked Sam up from school to go and search for Dad. They'd been through so much together. So much death, so much destruction. Still, despite everything, Dean wouldn't have traded it for anything. They'd finally gotten back to being brothers, regained that connection that had been lost over the four years Sam had been at school. They'd had a good run, but Dean needed to stop being selfish. He was a hunter. He had to start putting that first. So as much as it pained him to let Sam walk away, to go against that born and bred instinct of taking care of Sam, he did it. He let him go his own way. Hopefully he'd be able to find him again after the Apocalypse was done and dusted. Hopefully, they could regain that trust after this mess was put away. For once, Dean had hope that things would be okay in the end.

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 **A/N:** So, now I'm gonna go to bed and hope that when I wake up for my next work shift, I've got a couple of reviews to start my day off right with (*wink*wink*nudge*nudge*). Enjoy your weekends and I shall see you all on Tuesday!


	85. Nighttime Tonic

**A/N:** HAPPY BIRTHDAY SAM WINCHESTER! May we watch your adventures for many years to come. As a birthday gift to all of you from Sam, here's a glimpse into a little flashback my brain came up with for 5x03, _Free to Be You and Me_.

So I definitely posted this last night but it never went up. I'm so sorry everyone.

Thanks to Sallyannerenee, shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod, Dragonsrule18, FanaticomaticSuperTokienLover, NightReader22 (x4), hectatess, and Tempermental18 for the wonderful reviews.

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

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 **Nighttime Tonic**

" _Dee!"_

 _The scream had 14-year-old Dean wide awake, out of bed, down the hall, and by his brother's side at a speed that would make The Flash jealous. He found his little brother tangled in his ratty sheets, eyes clenched shut, shaking and crying as the nightmare played its nasty tricks on his psyche._

" _Sammy," Dean called gently, rubbing his hand lightly over his little brother's shoulder. When he let out another pitiful whimper, Dean shook him instead. "Sammy, wake up." This was why he hadn't wanted separate rooms in the rental house that John had shacked them up in for the month. He knew from personal experience just how calming another presence in the room could be, but Sam had been on an independent streak since his tenth birthday a few months previous, so Dean had conceded. "Sam." Dean was shaking him hard now, rocking his brother side to side until Sam bolted up in bed, smacking Dean in the face with his hard forehead._

" _Dean!"_

" _Ow! Mother of…" Dean bit back his words as his eyes instinctively teared up. He tilted his head back and felt under his nose. No blood was a good sign, but it was sure to hurt like hell for the next couple of days. Assured that he wouldn't end up raining blood down on his little brother, Dean turned back to the bed, where Sam was sitting upright, panting hard and trembling ever so slightly._

" _Dean…what are you…?"_

 _Dean shook his head in an attempt to clear it. "Was trying to save you from your sheets, but apparently you got that handled, Rocky."_

 _Sam grinned sheepishly. "Sorry, Dean. Did I wake you?"_

 _Dean rolled his eyes and bent down to pick Sam up so he could kick himself free of the sheets. "Kinda hard not to wake me, midget. You were kinda loud."_

 _Sam flushed as he finally freed himself of the holey sheets and settled himself back into the mattress. "Sorry," he mumbled, looking down at the sheets. "Nightmare."_

 _Dean blinked slowly down at him, feeling the adrenaline from his race to Sam's room and the pain in his nose fade, leaving him feeling sorry for upsetting his little brother. "No worries, Sammy. Had to get up soon anyway."_

 _Sam shot him a skeptical look. "It's 3 o'clock in the morning."_

" _Yeah, and Dad wanted me to do a 10-mile run this morning, AND I got homework I still gotta do. Means I gotta be up by 5, so thanks for being my alarm clock." Sam made a half-assed attempt at a grin before refocusing his eyes on the sheets and picking at one of the holes. Dean shoved at his legs so he could sit down on the edge of the bed. "Alright, what's got you spooked?"_

" _Told you, Dean. It was just a nightmare. It's nothing."_

 _Dean shook his head in mock disappointment. "Sammy, Sammy, Sammy…when have you ever lied to me and had it work out?"_

 _One of Sam's dimples popped out as he smiled impishly. "Well, you did take me for ice cream that time I said I got an A on my math test, even though I only got a B plus."_

 _Dean grasped at his chest. "Oh my god, Sam Winchester got a B plus. The world must be ending." Sam giggled. Dean grinned, happy to have been able to make his brother happy. The grin slowly faded, despite Sam's continuing laughter, because Dean knew his job was only half done. "Sam…"_

 _Sam's chuckled trailed off at the seriousness of his big brother's tone. It brooked no argument, and Sam knew better than to try to avoid the subject now. "I told you Dean, it was stupid. Just the usual blood and guts."_

" _Nothing that makes you scream bloody murder at 3 o'clock in the morning is stupid, Sam," Dean reminded gently. A pause. "Was it that last hunt I did with Dad?" he asked gently, not wanting to push his brother to talk about it. They'd been through it several times already, and Dean was more than ready to put it in the past, even though his chest still ached like a mother. Dean didn't even need to look at Sam to know he was right. "Sam…" Dean signed sadly. "You know, whatever happens, I'll always come back, right?" Sam looked up at him. Dean knew that they were far past the age when a simple promise from Dean would be enough to allay Sam's fears, but he didn't care. It was the truth. "We can argue, and fight, and hate each other's guts, but you ain't gettin' rid of me that easy, squirt. Somebody's gotta take care of you until you reach normal people height."_

 _Sam batted away the hand that reached out to tousle his hair and sunk back into the flat pillows on his bed. "Yeah, whatever…jerk."_

 _Dean smiled as Sam did his best to shove him off the bed with his feet before standing up and throwing the sheets unceremoniously over his head. "Goodnight, bitch."_

It was a memory from such a long time ago, from before Sam's first hunt, but it was what Sam thought about as he stared at his phone in the middle of the night in Garber, Oklahoma, wondering if he should or even could call the one person who had always been able to soothe his nightmares.

Since the time when Sam discovered what a nightmare was, Dean had been there. Whether it was with a glass of water, a joke to make him forget, or a dreaded chick flick moment, Dean was there. Now, he wasn't. Dean was gone because Sam had driven him away. Dad had been right; he was a pigheaded fool. But his stubbornness didn't take away from the fact that his vision of Lucifer had scared him to the bone, and he could really use his brother's reassurance to calm him, even if he knew he didn't deserve it.

With apprehensive determination, Sam pressed the number 1 speed dial and held the phone to his ear, half praying that Dean was asleep or otherwise occupied and too busy to answer. The other half of him, the half that had sworn up, down, and sideways to do whatever it took to stay by Dean's side, hoped that he would answer and talk him down from the ledge, like he always did.

When Dean answered the phone, obviously expecting someone else, relief won out. Even though Dean turned him down, even though they were further away from each other than they had been since Dean went to Hell, even though he obviously thought that Sam was capable of saying yes to the Devil, it was comforting to know that one thing hadn't changed, and that was that his big brother was still the best tonic in the world for curing nightmares.

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 **A/N:** Hope you guys enjoyed that. Thanks again to everyone for the reviews, and I hope you all review this chapter. Have a good week and I'll see you guys on Friday.


	86. Human

**A/N:** Hello everybody, and welcome back! I hope you all had busy but fulfilling weeks. First, some administrative business to take care of. This is gonna be my last Friday update for a while. I'm running out of chapters in the bank and have limited time to write, and I don't want to leave you guys hanging, so I'm gonna go back to solely Tuesday updates. I find reviews pick up a little too when it's only once a week.

Next, thanks to zekeschance (x2), Bjester74 (x2), Dragonsrule18, shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod, and Tempermental18 for the reviews. Though you be but a small number, you are mighty.

Last, this chapter is for episode 5x04, _The End_. Also for celinenaville, because I know she loves one of the lines in it. Please read, review, and, most importantly, enjoy.

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

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 **Human**

In the beginning, Dean hadn't even wanted a little brother. He hadn't wanted a little sister either, but that was beside the point. He liked it being just him, Daddy, and Mommy. He liked being Daddy's little man, and Mommy's special little helper. He liked when Daddy came home from the shop with the 'Pala, because he would throw Dean up in the air, zoom him around the room, and then they would both tackle Mommy onto the couch and smother her in kisses and hugs. Or, they had, until one day Daddy told him they couldn't do that for a while. The only time they couldn't tackle Mommy was when she was sick, so Dean was okay with waiting until she wasn't sick anymore, but it took longer than he expected.

He didn't like it when Mommy was sick. She got sick almost every morning, sometimes all day, and she would be too tired or sore to play with him. Sometimes he'd have to go over to mean old Ms. Chancey's house when Mommy had to go to the doctor, which he also did not like, because she made him play with her cats, and he hated cats.

He could vividly remember the day his Mommy and Daddy sat him down and told him with smiling faces that he was going to be a big brother. Being such an emotionally intelligent little boy, he hadn't wanted to wipe the smiles from their faces, so he pretended to be happy, when all he wanted to do was throw a temper tantrum. When he found out that the baby was the reason his Mommy had been so sick, he threw every ounce of hatred his tiny body could muster towards the little thing growing inside his Mommy's tummy. Nothing that made his Mommy sick could be good, so this baby thing had to be some sort of monster. That didn't stop him from curling up next to Mommy and resting his head on her tummy. He couldn't help it, it was like her tummy was a magnet or something, but he still hated the thing growing inside of her like an alien.

But then his Daddy woke him up when the Sun was still asleep, took him to Ms. Chancey's house, and took Mommy to the hospital because she was going to have the baby. A few hours later, he came back and took him to see Mommy and his new baby brother. When he saw his Mommy lying in that bed, looking small and tired, it scared him. This baby had somehow hurt his Mommy, so Dean hated him even more than he had when he was still in Mommy's tummy. That is, until he saw him. That small, pudgy, red baby that was sleeping in the cot next to Mommy's bed looked so…innocent. And then he opened his eyes and looked right at Dean, baby blue's meeting green.

 _Oh. That's where you've been._

How could he have ever thought that his baby brother was a monster? His brother, his Sammy, was so pure and innocent, and needed to be protected. When Mommy and Daddy would fight, Dean would hide in his brother's room, covering Sammy's ears so that he wouldn't hear the arguing and get scared. When Ms. Chancey came over and tried to hold Sammy, Dean yelled at her for making him cry ( _and he knew it was her fault, too, because it wasn't Sammy's tired cry or his hungry cry or his accident cry. It was his scared cry._ ), and he wouldn't apologize when Daddy tried to make him. And when he saw Mommy on the ceiling surrounded by fire, and Daddy shoved Sammy into his arms and yelled at him to run, he did. He didn't cry. He didn't scream. He just ran, because Sammy needed to be protected. And if that meant Mommy didn't come out of the house, then Dean would have to be okay with that.

In the middle of their young lives, it was often just the two of them. Dad would be off on some hunt in some town in some state, and Dean would take care of Sam because there was no point of trucking them to South Dakota every time Dad caught a case that was out of his way.

They fought like regular brothers, but with an added level of love and respect that wasn't there when Sam fought with Dad, which was often and loudly. Dean still knew that Sam had to be protected, only now Sam knew just how far his brother was willing to go for him. He could see that Dean did things differently than other older brothers he came into contact with, but he had yet to come to understand why. His young mind, for all of its wit and wisdom, could not fathom how one person could care so little about themselves in favor of caring about someone else. Not that that made him selfish; he enjoyed caring for others and saving them, but not at the expense of his own life and freedom. So, as soon as he possibly could, he left the life of the hunter behind him, confident in the idea that he was leaving the life and not his beloved brother because, as much as he knew that he had hurt Dean by leaving him, he knew that his brother still cared about him and wanted what was best for him.

Dean, to his credit, never really tried to convince him to return, and when Sam made the executive decision to cut ties completely, Dean obliged. Because Sam still needed to be protected, even if it was from Dean himself.

In the end, they were all they had left. A black '67 Chevy Impala, a few changes of clothes each, and two brothers, bonded by ash and blood and souls that yearned for each other when separated. Souls that drove them to do arrogant, dangerous things when the other's life was on the line.

In the end, they were stupidly, dangerously codependent upon one another, to the point where others would confuse their names or even wonder about the nature of their relationship, much to their hatred and chagrin.

In the end, they kept each other alive. When Dean was on his own, he threw himself down upon Satan's altar like a sacrificial lamb and begged for his brother's life. When Sam was alone, he took Lucifer and all of his dark minions by the horns and demanded his brother's soul back. But when they were together, they were the little brother to be protected at all costs, and the big brother who could do no wrong.

In the end, they kept each other human.

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 **A/N:** Thanks for reading everybody. Have a fantastic weekend and I will see you all on Tuesday!


	87. Journal Entries 1 and 2

**A/N:** Howdy folks! So glad you've decided to join me for another chapter. First, a story to tell. I went to the _Once Upon a Time_ convention this weekend and met the one and only Grandpapa Winchester, Gil McKinney. I'm still slightly shaking because of it. He's wonderful. Love him even more now.

Next, thanks to Guest 3, spnfanforlife (x3), Sallyannerenee, celinenaville, shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod, Guest 2, lenail125, Dragonsrule18, Tempermental18, Guest 1, waitingforAslan, and zekeschance for the reviews. I was really worried about the last chapter, which is why I had celinenaville beta it for me. I'm so glad you guys liked it.

This chapter is tied to episode 5x05, _Fallen Idols_. This is a method of storytelling I might return to if you guys like it, so you'll have to let me know what you think. So please review.

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

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 **Journal Entries 1 and 2**

 _ **Journal Entry #1**_

 _Leshi—pagan god from the Balkans. Shapeshifter. Changes forms only when in contact with something the person owned. Protected forest until chopped down. Drains those who worship it. Cause of death: decapitation with an iron axe._

 _Apparently, Leshi would have turned into Dad for Dean. She mentioned something about being able to see into Dean's mind, and knowing that Dad is Dean's idol. Definitely has some degree of mind reading capabilities, enough to know somebody's weakness._

Sam paused, reading over what he had written about the Leshi. The information on the Internet and from Bobby had been filled with holes, but luckily what they'd come up with had killed the old god. Still, he wanted to preserve the information just in case it wasn't the only one of its kind.

Creating his own hunting journal had been something he had wanted to do for a while, but it wasn't something he had started until Dean had allowed him to rejoin him in the hunt. He felt like, by recording the information that he had stored away in his brain, he was helping to rectify, in a small way, the mess he had made. The usual supernatural creatures they hunted were going nuts because of the Apocalypse, while even more creatures that they had never even heard of were coming out of the woodwork. If Sam could record, and perhaps even share, what he had learned over the years from his father, uncle, and brother, it would be beneficial for all.

Sam stared down at the barely filled page, drawing a blank as to what to write next. Usually, Dad would draw a picture or include a news article about the beast he had been hunting, but Sam didn't see how he could do that. Include a picture of Paris Hilton? Nobody would believe him. He barely believed it himself. Hell, he wouldn't have believed it if the hunt hadn't been tied up in pop culture. James Dean, Abraham Lincoln, and Paris Hilton? It sounded like the beginning of a bad joke. Throw Gandhi in there, and it kind of was.

Honestly, Sam had been more than a little surprised when Gandhi had come to life and attacked him. Not just because it was the peace-loving Gandhi, but because Leshi had taken Gandhi's form to try to attack him. Each of their victims had long-lasting ties to their so-called 'idols', except for Sam. Sure, he had admired Gandhi for his peace work and his dedication to equality, but he wasn't all gaga for the guy like the other vics had been. Like Dean had been for Dad.

Sam couldn't lie; for a lot of his life, he'd been jealous of the relationship his older brother had with their father. They shared memories of Mom; Dean knew Dad before he had become a drill sergeant, and the two of them had bonded over hunting and taking care of Sam, though Sam would definitely maintain that Dean had done most of the caring in that instance. Still, he couldn't help but want something like that with their father. Being able to pal around after a hunt or over beers, to have such an easy, laid back relationship built on years of trust? Yeah, Sam had wanted that for a long time. He'd wanted it basically up until that night when John had kicked him out. He knew that Dean thought they had been at odds since day one, but Sam knew it wasn't true. Maybe some of his bitching and moaning about the hunt was founded on basic logic, but their arguments about other stuff was Sam pleading, in his own way, for a normal relationship with his father. Of course, that desire had taken a tail spin for the worst when Sam went off to college, so he'd never gotten a chance to idolize his father in the same way Dean had.

However, it still stung that Leshi had turned into Gandhi for him, but was going to turn into Dad for Dean. Sure, it could've just been because Sam had commented that Gandhi was a great man, but his idol? Not really. An idol was somebody you wanted to emulate, somebody you looked up to and mirrored. Much as he might want to, Sam didn't want to emulate Gandhi. He couldn't. Living on the road, ganking monsters? It was impossible to be a pacifist.

But what stung even more was knowing that a year ago, Leshi wouldn't have thought twice about turning into Dean. His larger than life brother with an even bigger heart and a brain to match was the person he had spent his entire life trying to emulate. It didn't matter that Dean was a gun wielding hothead, or that he had slept his way down the east coast, or that he had dropped out of high school two months before graduation. Dean was just such a genuinely good person, and it was Dean who had, albeit in a roundabout sort of way, inspired Sam become a lawyer. He showed Sam that there was more than one way to save people just by hunting and being a big brother at the same time. He had saved Sam from a life of misery just by being there, and Sam wanted to do that for others who didn't have an amazing big brother watching out for them by being a Public Defender.

Now, almost five years since he had dropped out of school to return to the hunt, Sam knew he had dropped the ball on everything he had ever held dear. He hadn't helped anybody by killing Lilith, he'd only released Lucifer into the world. Besides that, Dean still didn't trust him. Dean was keeping him on some sort of need to know basis information wise, and though it rankled Sam, he could almost understand it. But he knew that he wouldn't make the same mistake twice. He'd already let Dean down, in ways his hopeful college boy persona wouldn't have even been able to imagine. He wouldn't do it again. He knew the stakes this time.

Sam flipped the page of his journal and started a new entry.

 _ **Entry #2—How to Ice the Devil**_

 _Has to be done. Gotta make it up to Dean. Just need to figure out how._

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 **A/N:** Sighs. Well, let me know what you think and if I should return to journal entries somewhere down the line. Until next time, lots of love.


	88. Savior Complex

**A/N:** Hey guys. I'm gonna keep this short because I've got a migraine threatening to implode my skull. I know FF has been having email and update issues, but I'm still kinda disappointed about the lack of reviews for the last chapter. That being said,thanks to waitingforAslan, Bjester74, Dragonsrule18, Tempermental18, and shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod for the reviews. I love those guys so much, but I hope the rest of y'all review for this one too.

This tag for 5x06, _I Believe The Children Are Our Future_ , is dedicated to my good friend, Sasha Snape. She requested this, and I hope I did her proud. Oh, and please review. I'm not above begging, especially when I'm feeling like this.

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing from _Supernatural_ belongs to me.

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 **Savior Complex**

It all started with Sam. Like everything else in his life, it all started with Sam. Sam was the first kid he ever saved, his kid brother's name heading the mile-long list of kids he had personally pulled out of sticky supernatural situations. Dean didn't know why, but holding his baby brother in his arms while racing out of the flame-filled nursery had awoken something inside of him. The need to protect his brother had always been there, but this was something…more. Knowing that he was helping innocent, helpless people…that's when he knew he was a hero. Not when he pulled some blustering old fool out from under a werewolf's corpse, or even when he was saving some pretty young thing like the hero in a horror film (though the ladies did tend to be enthusiastic in their thanks). It was the moments when the kids would look up at him, and he knew they would be okay. Scarred for life, and probably unable to sleep alone or with the lights off for the rest of their lives, but they would be okay. And, some day, that kid would be a doctor or a teacher or a bartender or a lawyer, and Dean would know that it was because of him. Because he had placed himself between a monster and a little kid, and saved them.

Like little Glen Fischer. When a Black Dog had been stalking the Fischer's neighbourhood, and Glen had decided to go out in the middle of the night to try to find the stuffed bear his little sister had dropped during her twilight walk. The kid had only been six years old, and was almost kibble for the beast, but twenty-one-year-old Dean had gotten there first. Now, Glen was the same age that Dean had been at that time, a scholarship student at Notre Dame University, looking to graduate with his M.D., and a football star to boot. And his little sister still had her hero. It made Dean feel like he was on top of the world knowing that he had kept that little family together.

Of course, some hunts weren't that easy. Like with Lucas at Lake Manitoc. The kid had been completely horrified by everything he had seen, both before and after Sam and Dean had rolled into town. There would be no easy bouncing back from that. Still, when Lucas had repeated "Zeppelin rules" to him and given him that high five, Dean knew that Lucas would be able to carry on with a strength that would amaze everyone around him. And he had been right. He'd called and checked up on Andrea and Lucas a few months before he'd gone to Hell, and Lucas had friends and was doing well in school and, barring a pretty severe aquaphobia, was just a regular kid.

Even the hunt with Michael and Asher and the shtriga he had let go back in the day had been satisfactory, and not just because he had finally gotten the son of a bitch who had tried to take Sam from him all those years ago. He looked at those two boys, and had seen himself and Sam reflected back at him. By saving Asher, he felt like he had finally made his failure up to Sam. This time, he hadn't been a preteen with preteen angst. This time, he'd kept his head and taken down the bad guy. It had been a win on both fronts, just like the changeling hunt that had brought him back to Lisa. Not only had he saved Ben and all those kids, but he'd gotten a chance to see what his life would have been like if he'd walked a different path. Maybe Ben would've been his kid, and that changeling mother freak wouldn't have thought twice about coming after his family, and Sam would still be in school because he wouldn't have been there to drag Sam away from Jess and their apartment. Like the lives of the kids he had saved, their lives would have been normal.

But if their lives had been normal, those kids wouldn't be alive today. That was a sacrifice that Dean was willing to make. He could put aside his dreams of being a mechanic or a firefighter or a dad if it meant that little Timmy got to be a garbage man, or Suzie became the first surgeon-lawyer-princess in space. Sam hadn't been willing to make that sacrifice, but that was okay. He deserved better, and he was one of the kids that Dean was willing to make that sacrifice for. Dean would always be willing to put his future on the line if it meant that Sam got to have one.

But this hunt had really rocked him. Jesse. No choice in the matter of his own life. A kid, sucked into a hell-hole life because of who his parents were. Cursed with these powers that he hadn't asked for, that he didn't want. Placed on the frontlines of a battle that had nothing to do with him. And there was nothing Dean could do to help. He couldn't fight off every angel and every demon that came Jesse's way, and, besides that, Jesse didn't want his help. The kid had just disappeared, and they had no way of finding him. Honestly, Dean wasn't sure if he wanted to find him. If he did, he'd only be bringing the kid's problems back to his doorstep, and that wasn't a mistake he was going to make. Not again.

"You think Jesse's gonna be okay?" Dean asked, casting his eyes towards the right side of the car. He heard Sam take a deep breath, but couldn't see his face in the shadows of the night.

"I hope so."

Dean felt his heart clench at the sadness and defeat in his brother's voice. He knew that he wasn't the only one seeing the parallels between his kid and the kid they had tried to save, and he knew that Sam wasn't exactly seeing the whole situation as a positive. Jesse was in the wind with nobody to protect him. It really led Dean to regret the whole thing.

"You know, we destroyed that kid's life by telling him the truth."

"We didn't have a choice, Dean."

"Yeah. You know, I'm starting to get why parents lie to their kids. You want them to believe that the worst thing out there is mixing Pop Rocks and Coke—protect them from the real evil. You want them going to bed feeling safe. If that means lying to them, so be it. The more I think about it…the more I wish Dad had lied to us." The more Dean wished he had lied more to Sam. He'd pulled out all the stops when it came to trying to keep him from the hunt, in order to protect him, but once Dad made that call, he'd had no choice.

"Yeah, me too."

Dean risked a glance in his brother's direction and wasn't pleased with what he saw in Sam's expression. He was moody and broody, and everything that had scared him about Sam lately, and it was then that Dean realized that he had failed. He may have been able to save all those kids, but he hadn't been able to save Jesse. And he hadn't been able to save Sam. He had failed, and now the world was at stake. Sam was at stake. And it was all on him. The Apocalypse was on him, because he hadn't done enough.

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 **A/N:** Thanks for reading, everybody. Have a good night, a safe and healthy week, and I will see you all on Tuesday.


	89. Again

**A/N:** Hey guys! Wow! The reaction to the last chapter was incredible! Thanks to Guest, Sasha Snape, Sallyannerenee, zekeschance (x2), Bjester74, Dragonsrule18, carrie4262, 332249, Tempermental18, hectatess, shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod, and celinenaville for the reviews. And thanks for all the well wishes! After a couple of days with tightness in my neck and shoulders, I'm feeling a lot better now. Or, at least, I was. After that season 12 finale, I'm not so sure anymore. I'm really looking forward to September/October, y'all.

Anyway, this chapter is tagged to 5x07, _The Curious Case of Dean Winchester_. Hilarious episode, even though the undertones were fairly dark. On that note, this chapter is inspired by the photo of Jared and Jensen sparring at the boxing gym that was posted at some point last year. Please enjoy, and I hope you all review. And in your reviews, why don't you talk to me about the finale?

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

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 **Again**

Thud. Thud. Thud-thud. Thud-thud-thud.

"Damnit!" Sam winced as his fist landed on the heavy bag wrong, twisting his wrist the wrong way. The wraps he had put on helped it from fully twisting, but the mistake threw him off his momentum long enough to allow the pain of his workout to set in.

He'd been at it for almost an hour, just working out his frustrations from the case on the weights and the heavy bag in the boxing gym he had spotted a couple of blocks down from their motel in Seattle. He'd told Bobby and Dean that he was going to get a booster shot after Patrick the Man-Witch had cursed him, and he hadn't lied. He'd gone to the clinic before driving down to the gym to work out his anger.

He'd almost lost Dean. _Thud!_ Again. His older brother had been thrust through time to a ripe old age, and Sam had been almost powerless to stop it. _Thud!_ Again. It didn't help that this hadn't exactly been a silver bullet type of case. He'd had to use his intelligence, his wit. He'd had to use all the poker training his brother had put him through over the years in order to save the day.

Normally, it was a case that Sam would have thrived on. Getting to use his brains instead of his brawn was something he always looked forward to, but it didn't come along as often as he'd like. So many of the predators they tracked had animal instincts, so the hunt was all about figuring out the cycle of their hunting patterns and areas that they liked to frequent. Still intellectual work, but not enough to satisfy his Ivy League caliber brain. Witches often did the trick, what with their various backgrounds and the different spells and ingredients they used, but Dean hated witches, so they rarely faced them. Sam was okay with that. After all the things Dean had done for him to make him comfortable, Sam could give up the few cases that actually challenged him to make his older brother comfortable. But this case…this case had made both of them uncomfortable.

Sam smashed his fist into the heavy bag a few more times before sitting down on the bench against the wall. God, what he would have given to smash his fist into Patrick's face a few times for trying to take Dean away from him. It was the only time he would have preferred to use his brawn over his brain. Punish the person who had made Dean an old man way before his time, leading to him almost dying…again.

Sam sighed as his head banged against the wall behind him. He didn't know if he'd make it through Dean dying again, especially not after everything they'd just gone through. Especially if he hadn't made everything up to Dean yet.

"Hey, Sasquatch, this ain't the clinic!" Dean dropped down beside him, smacking his leg out of the way as he did.

"Already went. Had to burn off some steam. How'd you find me?" Sam muttered, looking down to unravel the wraps around his hands and wrists.

"Your phone has GPS, Stanford. And before you start bitching about me not trusting you or whatever else has had your panties in a bunch the past couple of weeks, no. I don't use it to track you. Only did it cuz you've been gone for a couple of hours when you said you'd be right back."

"Sorry…lost track of time." Sam placed the wraps on the bench next to him and rolled his shoulders.

Dean nodded. "Yeah…rough case. Can't believe Bobby was stupid enough to try to play his way out of that chair." Dean chuckled as he shook his head.

"Can't believe you were stupid enough to try to play Patrick after Bobby lost," Sam mumbled.

"Hey, not my fault I had to pull Ironsides' ass out of the fire!"

"You didn't think, Dean! Bobby's the one who taught you how to play poker! If he couldn't beat Patrick, how the hell do you think you could?"

"Oh, well I'm so sorry, Sam, for not thinking it through when Bobby's _life_ was on the line!"

At some point during the argument, they had both gotten up and were now standing toe to toe in the middle of the deserted boxing gym. Sam turned away, resisting the urge to punch his brother right in the face, not wanting things to get tense. Again.

Dean seemed to be on the same page, because Sam heard him sigh and say, "Look, I'm sorry about the way things went down. And I'm sorry you had to take the weight on this one. But I'm not gonna apologize for trying to save Bobby from dyin'."

"You think I'm mad about you trying to save Bobby? Dean, you almost _died_! AGAIN!"

"Oh gee, Sam, I hadn't noticed!"

Sam bit back a growl. "After _everything_ that we've been through the past couple of years, you just decide that it's okay if you barter with your life. Again. And after everything I did when you were gone…I just…" Sam sighed heavily and sank back down into the bench. "I just can't go through that again, man. I can't."

Dean leaned against the wall, rubbing one hand over his forehead before crossing his arms. "Sam…you won't go full suicide mission next time I decide to bite it."

"How do you know?" Sam couldn't help the fear in his voice when the question left his mouth. Dean was sure about a lot of things, but after everything Sam had done, he knew that Dean would never fully trust him again.

Dean cocked his head as he grinned. "Because I know you, Sam. And you don't make the same mistake twice." Sam nodded his head thoughtfully until Dean smacked him on the shoulder. "C'mon. Bobby's waiting for us. Don't want to make him grumpier than he already is."

"Yeah. I'll be out in just a second."

Dean nodded, smacked him on the shoulder once more, then left.

Sam sighed before packing up the few belongings he had brought with him to the gym. Dean had been right. Sam knew he would never allow himself to go full dark side ever again, but that wasn't what scared him. What he would do, should Dean ever die again, wasn't what scared him. The feeling of being alone, the desperation to somehow get his brother back, and the fear had all consumed him when Dean had died, and they were what scared him now. No, he wasn't afraid of going back to drinking demon blood should Dean die again. He was afraid that he would do something much, much worse.

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 **A/N:** I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter as much as you did the last one. Please review, and everyone have a good and safe week and weekend. I will see you all on Tuesday!


	90. Comparisons

**A/N:** Hey guys! Hope you all had a relaxing weekend. To my American friends/readers, a Happy Late Memorial Day to you all. Thanks to NightReader22 (x5), Sallyannerenee, hectatess, waitingforAslan (x2), carrie4262, Tempermental18, Dragonsrule18, and shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod for the reviews. I really appreciate all of your kindness. I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as you did the last one.

This chapter is tagged to 5x08, _Changing Channels_. Y'all don't know how nervous I was going into this one! I know it's a fan fave, so I hope I lived up to the hype. Please enjoy, and please review at the end.

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

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 **Comparisons**

Dean was impressed. Sam managed to keep quiet until they had crossed four state lines. After the multiple bombshells the freaking archangel Gabriel had dropped on them, Dean was surprised that Sam had been able to keep his mouth shut at all.

"Do you think he's right?" The question came quietly as they crossed into Kansas.

Dean, eager to get the hell out of their home state already, didn't let the question slow him or his Baby down. "About what, Sam?"

Dean felt Sam's eyes on him as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I don't know…everything?"

Dean couldn't help the small smirk that pulled at the edges of his lips. "Gonna have to be more specific than that, dude."

"I don't know, Dean! That I'm like Lucifer? That you're like Michael? That we don't get a choice in any of this? That it's gonna end bloody? That one of us is gonna k…kill the other?" Sam sighed sadly before visibly pulling himself together. "It's just…why us?" Dean could hear the unasked questions in his brother's voice. _Why do we always get screwed over? Why did we get chosen, out of all the pairs of brothers in the world? Why do we always get pulled into wars that aren't our own?_ Dean could feel his brother's frustration. It felt like every time they tried to stand back up after being knocked down, some supernatural dick kicked them back down. Over, and over, and over again.

"I don't know, Sam."

"Do you think I'm really like…Him?"

Dean scratched his forehead as he sighed with frustration, suddenly regretting not deep frying that winged douche when he had the chance. "No, Sam. I don't."

"But—"

"Damnit Sam! No, I don't think you're like the freaking DEVIL!" Dean's heaving breaths filled the silence of the car, and the fact that Sam didn't make some sort of snarky comment told Dean how much his brother was obsessing over what Gabriel had said to him. Dean also knew that he wasn't mad at Sam for asking the question; he was worried because that was the same question he had been asking himself. At least, he was asking himself a version of that question.

How could his kid brother be a mirror of Lucifer? Lucifer was the epitome of all evil, and Sam…Okay, Sam had made his mistakes, but he sure as Hell wasn't evil. An evil person wouldn't try to make up for their mistakes, but Sam was desperate to. Lucifer had turned on his family, and Sam had never done that.

" _Lucifer: the little brother, rebellious of Daddy's plan."_ The words echoed in Dean's mind. Those were the only ways Sam was similar to Lucifer. But he wasn't friggin' Michael's little brother, he was Dean's. And, yes, Sam rebelled, but the father he rebelled against sure wasn't a god, no matter how much John Winchester seemed like one at times. So, for Dean at least, the similarities stopped there.

Sam, it seemed, was only seeing the worst in himself, and Dean had to squash that train of thought before it left the station. He hadn't brought Sam back into the fold only to have him go all emo on him. He needed his brother smart, strong, sharp. He needed Sammy.

Dean sighed again and rubbed his eyes tiredly. "Sam…Sammy, you're nothing like Lucifer. When I went to Hell…when I went to Hell, you were willing to straight up trade your soul for mine. Yeah, don't think I don't know about that; Chuck told me." Dean shot his brother a look, and almost laughed at the childlike look on his face. Like a child being scolded by a parent, Sam had a pouty, defiant look on his face. "Do you think that the damn Devil would be willing to do the same thing? No, Sam. He would've left Michael to rot in Hell. That difference alone is good enough for me."

Silence met his declaration, and Dean mentally patted himself on the back. There was no denying that they were still on vastly different wavelengths, and Dean still wanted to sock Sam one for everything he had put him through with Ruby and Lilith, but it felt good to know that he could still put his little brother at ease. It was one thing that hadn't changed over the years, and it was slowly becoming Dean's stone number one. If he could still soothe Sam when he got worked up like this, it meant that his little brother wasn't so far gone. Dean felt the corner of his mouth perk up into a tiny little self-satisfied grin. He still had it.

"But he is right…"

Or not.

"Sam…"

"The loyal son. The loyal brother. The Righteous Archangel Michael, who was the strongest and mightiest that Heaven had to offer." Dean could hear the emotion creeping into Sam's voice as his speech built up. "Michael is the _preeminent_ older brother figure. And you…"

Dean didn't react as Sam trailed off. He could see where Sam was going with his train of thought, and Dean didn't want to hear it. He wasn't the hot shot big brother Sam seemed to think he was. He had failed Sam more often than he had saved him, and now with the Apocalypse breathing down their necks, he felt like a legless man in an ass-kicking contest. Useless. Lucifer was free and gunning for his brother, and he couldn't do anything to stop it. So how could he possibly compare to an archangel, _the_ warrior of Heaven?

Sam heaved a deep sigh. "I just don't see how the Trickester could be right about you, but wrong about me."

"Sam…"

"Dean, it's okay. I guess this was just the way things were always going to go."

"Hold on! Hold on!" Dean jerked the car over to the side of the road so he could look at his brother without risking a crash. "What the Hell makes Michael so wonderful? He threw his brother's ass into Hell. He lets douchebags like Zachariah do his dirty work for him. And he's a girly looking tool who wears a dress! Lucifer's no saint, but this archangel Michael doesn't sound so great either." Sam hummed in a way that let Dean know he wasn't completely sold, and Dean scoffed. "Sam, I'm no angel. I think we both know that. And for the last time, no, you are not the freaking devil. So why don't we do what we do best? Live our own lives, by our own rules. Save some people, hunt some things, and raise a little hell?"

Sam smiled a sad sort of smile as he looked over at his older brother. "Yeah…yeah, okay." Sam reached over and turned on the radio to the opening strains of _Back in Black_ as Dean pulled the Impala back onto the road. He still wasn't completely sold on Dean's denial of Gabriel's claim, but for the moment, he would allow himself to believe. It wouldn't last long, but he would do it. For Dean, if not for himself.

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 **A/N:** Thanks for reading guys! I hope you all have a good week and a relaxing weekend. Until next time...


	91. dedication, n

**A/N:** Hi everybody! Hope you all had a good week. Thanks to carrie4262, Sallyannerenee, zekeschance (x2), Bjester74, Tomb Raider and Walking Dead, hectatess, Colby's girl, Tempermental18, and lenail125 for the awesome reviews that made my week even better. It means a lot knowing you guys have my back, and be sure to know that I have yours as well.

Okay, so this is one of the first chapters that has me legitimately nervous. I mean, the first chapter had me a little scared because I didn't know if people were going to like it. A couple of the chapters have had me in fits because "OMG-this-episode-was-SO-good-and-I-don't-want-to-let-anyone-down-by-totally-screwing-it-up". But this one...this one is really different. And it's dedicated to all of you.

Tagged to episode 5x09, _The Real Ghostbusters_.

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me, only my views on this fandom and what it has done for me.

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 **dedication, n.**

The majority of people lead banal, boring, and borderline lifeless lives. Sam would call them normal. Dean would call them stupid. No matter what people called them, it rang true that a sizeable portion of the population rarely experienced anything that would be considered exciting by the Winchester's standards. That's why they turn to television and movies to fill that void. Helpless people could watch comic book adaptations and imagine that they had superpowers. Lonely people could watch romances and renew their hope in finding true love. Children could watch Disney movies and believe in the power of happy endings. People could read books and escape to another world for a small moment in time, or listen to songs and be transported to happier moments, or watch their favourite TV shows and feel a connection to their favourite characters. It didn't matter what it was, so long as it offered an escape from reality.

When the _Supernatural_ series by Carver Edlund came out, it touched the hearts of a specific section of that large population. People who felt that they didn't have another place to turn. People who felt like outcasts, losers, or who just didn't fit in. People who weren't normal by society's standards. Those people found something within the books that was almost…indescribable. They watched as those two brothers fought to stay together through the worst nightmares life could throw at them. Death, disease, and fate fought to keep them apart, and they always won.

That was what Dean didn't understand. It wasn't about the darkness that they fought or the multiple deaths that they had to overcome. It wasn't about life kicking them, again and again and again, while they were already down for the count. It was about that moment when one brother heaved himself up on world-weary legs after taking one too many punches that life had thrown at him, and reaching his hand down to the brother that was still hurting. _Supernatural_ was about the hope the Winchesters inspired. It was about never giving up or giving in. It was about fighting whatever evils were out there in the world and the darkness that took up the hidden recesses of ones' mind.

And it wasn't just the books that helped people. The books built a fanbase that infused each other with hope and love because, all of a sudden, they weren't alone anymore. They made friends that turned into family, and that family helped them through the darkest of times, because that's what the Winchesters did. They helped each other face down addictions and the darkness inside because that's what Sam and Dean would do. They helped others. They fought back. They were heroes, and that's what inspired others.

Of course, it wasn't as glamorous as some fans made it out to be. Some of them would romanticize being a hero, and ignore the harshness of the reality. Ignore the neglect that John Winchester bestowed upon his children, not because he hated them but because he loved the memory of his wife more. The scars and the broken bones and the losses they endured. Oftentimes they were overlooked in favour of the heroics of their deeds. Beat the bad guy, save your brother, and move on.

This was the reality that Demian and Barnes were faced with when they assisted the Winchesters, albeit unknowingly, in their haunted hotel case. They came face to face with the fear of being killed on the job, with the fear of the person they cared about dying while they stood by, helpless. They dug up the graves even though it hurt their backs and their knees. They felt the weight of all the souls inside of the hotel weighing them down. They knew the cost that the job came with, and yet they still romanticized it.

"You're wrong, you know."

Dean turned around. "Sorry?"

"About _Supernatural_. No offense, but I'm not sure you get what the stories are about."

Dean didn't know if he wanted to laugh or cry. After the night they'd all just had, they still doubted him. They still thought that his crap hole of a life was something to be aspired to. No home, no friends, no money. Neither Sam nor Dean had anything that a normal person would want, except for maybe Baby, but she was the exception to every rule. Still, the fact that these random guys thought that they knew more about Dean's life because of freaking Chuck…it made Dean want to laugh for the first time in a long time.

"That so?"

The guy dressed as Sam sighed. "Alright. In real life, he sells stereo equipment. I fix copiers. Our lives suck. But to be Sam and Dean—to wake up every morning and save the world; to have a brother who would die for you—well, who wouldn't want that?"

Dean did a mental doubletake. He'd honestly never thought about it that way. Sure, he hated the normalcy of regular life, but that was just on principle. He hated it the same way lactose intolerant people hated ice cream: only because they couldn't have it. He hated school because he knew he'd never get a chance to further his education past high school. He hated being in a relationship because history told him that he'd have to move on and break the girl's heart. He hated the idea of a 9 to 5 job because it wasn't freedom, and that was one of the parts of his job that he loved. He loved being free, and saw regular life as a prison. A really nice prison, but chains were still chains. And honestly, he didn't think regular, normal people saw their lives in the same way. Why would they? They had stability and a home and a family that loved them. They didn't face danger and death every single day, and they didn't have to face losing the ones they loved. They didn't have to make the sacrifices he and Sam made.

Yet, part of what they said rang true to Dean. _"To be Sam and Dean…to have a brother who would die for you."_ Dean knew from personal experience that he wouldn't give up what he had with Sam for the world. Sam was his brother, his best friend, his hunting partner. He'd given up his soul for Sam. Sure, their lives were dirty and horrible and bloody. They died and they sacrificed and they shed blood and they fought, but they also saved and supported and LIVED, more so than any other people could say. At the end of the day, ordinary people could lose their jobs. Their husbands or wives could walk out on them. They could get hit by a bus. But the Winchesters would go out in a blaze of glory, protecting the world or each other from evil. And they would always have their brother by their side.

Dean smiled a little as he nodded his head. "Maybe you got a point," he told them.

Their lives were far from perfect, but they always had each other. They built on each others' strength and supported each other in moments of weakness. Sam was always there for him, even when he wasn't, because he inspired Dean to do the right thing. Sam always found his way back to him, to _them_. Who wouldn't want that?

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 **A/N:** 91 chapters would have been impossible without all of you guys supporting me, every step of the way. Here's to another 91! I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter, and it would mean a lot to me if you would drop me a line and let me know what you thought. Anyway, have an awesome rest of the week and a lovely weekend.


	92. The Last Night on Earth

**A/N:** Hey guys! I just want to thank you all for the love for the last chapter. The fandom means so much to me that I really appreciate your kindness regarding my thoughts on it. Thanks to Sallyannerenee, Tomb Raider and Walking Dead, Bjester74, celinenaville (x3), waitingforAslan, zekeschance, DAForever62442, Colby's girl, hectatess, DearHart, carrie4262, and shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod especially for the love and support.

So this chapter is tagged to 5x10, _Abandon All Hope_. Such a sad episode, so I hope I did it justice. Please review and let me know what you thought.

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

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 **The Last Night on Earth**

Sam had called her. Told her that he had let the Devil out of his cage but that he was going to do everything in his power to fix it. They had a location, and he, Dean, and their angel friend, Castiel, were going to go after him. Did they want in?

Ellen replied that she would be there, and then had gotten into a screaming match with Jo about whether or not she would be tagging along. Jo's argument was that she was an adult, fully capable of making her own decisions, and that, if the world was in danger of an Apocalypse of Biblical proportions, she had a duty to do something about it. Fine. Ellen didn't like it, but if it really was end times, then those boys were going to need all the help they could get, and Jo had grown into a damn good hunter. Dressing her up as bait for a bunch of demons didn't sit well with her, but she trusted Sam and Dean with her life, and with her daughter's.

Those two boys had proven themselves over and over again as damn good hunters and even better people. They were the type of people Ellen wanted on her side in a hunt and, even more importantly, she knew they would take care of her daughter if they got separated.

Ellen looked over at the boys as Castiel downed his fifth shot. They were sitting across from each other at Bobby's desk, beers in hand, quietly talking. They were still as handsome as they had been the first time she clapped eyes on them, not long after John's death, but she could see how the weight of the world had begun to bend those strong shoulders.

She had come when they called her, such was her loyalty. She knew how dangerous the situation was, and yet she joined them anyway. Like a couple of moths to a flame, the Harvelle women went to the Winchesters, knowing full well the likelihood of getting burned. They didn't care about the consequences. As Jo lay dying in her mother's arms, she didn't think of all the things she would never get to do, or the people she'd never get to meet. She only wondered who would help Sam and Dean if she and her mother were gone. They were so good and pure, despite the layers of grime that the years had bestowed upon them. They deserved happiness and love and all the things that life had taken away from them. Joanne Harvelle only mourned the fact that she wouldn't be around to see them achieve that happiness.

And Ellen? She did not curse the Winchester boys for the death of her daughter as she had cursed John for the death of her husband. She pitied them; she felt for them. They would no doubt mourn the loss of her and her daughter, and they would inevitably blame themselves. That was no weight for those boys to carry around. They did not deserve the horrors that life had placed in front of them. Though she sobbed for her daughter, Ellen knew that she and Jo would be reunited soon, and in a better place. The Winchesters—those sweet boys who had come to her half-broken—would never know that sense of peace. Ellen could see it in their eyes. Their lives were filled with self-hate and loss and darkness, and the deaths of her and her daughter would only add to that. Even if they believed in Heaven, they would not allow themselves to believe that they could go there, that they could be blessed with such a reprieve.

Dean believed himself to be broken. Perhaps he had been, way back when Ellen had met him. Knowing, or at least thinking, that his father gave up his soul for him had broken something inside of Dean. As a mother, Ellen had been well equipped to see the pain and sadness swirling behind Dean's green eyes that first time they had met. He hid it well; he buried it under layers of alcohol and charm and humor, but she could still see it. She had grown up in the life, and she knew the look well. It was the look of a man at the end of his rope. He was scared, confused, and lost, which meant that he was more than likely to screw up. Her father had always warned her about such men, saying that hunting with them would only get her killed, but she never could stay away. In her mind, they were the ones who needed her most. They needed a gentle hand and a calm voice to guide them through the tough times. That was why she was so surprised to see that look in Dean's eyes. He already had that hand and that voice leading him away from the edge.

Sam. Sweet Sam, who had been so hurt and lost in the wake of his brother's death that he allowed darkness to rule his life. Sam, who loved his brother so much that he unwittingly unleashed the Devil upon the world. Sam, who seemed to expect nothing but hate and anger from the rest of the hunting community, but who had been willing to reach out and ask for her help anyway because he knew they couldn't face off with Lucifer alone. He was willing to reach out and face rejection, if not to help himself, then to help his brother, who refused on principle to allow him to clean up the mess he had made alone.

Those damn boys. They were too good, too pure, too loveable, for their own good. Like a couple of kicked puppies wandering up to the Roadhouse, she and Jo had immediately taken them in, even though Ellen had felt the bite of their father. She had fallen for their puppy dog eyes and their cuteness, even though she knew better. She knew that hunting with Winchesters only led to pain and loss and sadness, but she hadn't cared.

Looking back; looking _down_ , she didn't regret any of it. Not a single damn thing. Those boys may not have been able to ice the Devil with the Colt, but she and Jo had kept them together for another day. What's more, she and Jo were still together, and their family had been reunited as well.

It may have been her last day on Earth, but Ellen died with no regrets, and wasn't that the point of life?

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 **A/N:** There you have it. Please review, and I hope you all have a fantastic rest of your week and a restful weekend.


	93. Paradise

**A/N:** Hey everybody, and thanks for coming back! Thanks to Colby's girl, Sallyannerenee, waitingforAslan, Bjster74, Beth Nottingham, MelindaSkyeMay, NightReader22 (x3), hectatess, shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod, Tomb Raider and Walking Dead, and lenail125. Your reviews always brighten my week, and I always love hearing what you have to say, so keep them coming!

So, this chapter for 5x11, _Sam, Interrupted_ , is a little different. I hope you enjoy it!

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

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 **Paradise**

After escaping and putting as much distance between them and Ketchum, Oklahoma, Sam and Dean ended up squatting for a week in an abandoned house in Judith Gap, Montana before drifting south until they hit Georgia's Stateline and splurged on a cabin in Georgia.

They didn't hunt during those two weeks. They didn't try to plan for Lucifer or the Apocalypse. They didn't hear from Castiel or Bobby. They barely spoke to each other.

Needless to say, the hunt at Glenwood Springs Psychiatric Hospital had shaken both the Winchesters, and neither of them did well with being shaken. Dean hated how vulnerable the wraith's tampering had made him, while Sam had taken Dr. Fuller's comments about his rage and anger issues to heart, and Dean's order to beat it all down hadn't been as effective as he had hoped. So, they found themselves stuck. Neither knew how to bridge the gap that had somehow formed between them. It made Sam antsy; after the year they had just had, and the four months before that, and the year before that, he didn't want to feel separate from his brother. He wanted them to finally be back on the same page, but something was keeping them apart. Sam just didn't know what, and Sam didn't like not knowing.

It was a few days after landing in Blue Ridge, Georgia that Sam felt brave enough to confront his brother about the chasm sitting between them. A few days of fresh air, peace, and quiet had settled Dean down a little after getting thraped by the wraith, and the calmness of the town had helped Sam reign in his anger, so Sam felt like it was a good time to broach the subject.

Sam walked back from the art museum with an arm load of delicious smelling take out from the local barbecue joint.

Unlocking the front door of their rental cabin, Sam found his brother sitting at the kitchen table, staring out at something Sam couldn't see.

"Hey Dean, I grabbed you enough meat to ward off vegetarians for life, with some pork rinds and fries. Picked up a couple of six packs too. Thought maybe we could go sit by the river?" They hadn't sat out and stared at the stars in such a long time, and Sam wanted to reclaim that part of their relationship. He wanted to bring back the good moments, just in case the Apocalypse went sideways on them, but Dean didn't react, even when he placed the tray of barbecued ribs in front of him. "Dean?" Sam called, digging into his barbecue chicken salad. "Dean?"

"Did you mean it?" The question was hoarse, almost whispered, and knocked Sam for a loop.

"What? About going out to the river? Yeah…I mean, I know you don't like bugs and nature, but we could just sit and watch the stars. You know, like…like before?"

Dean shook his head almost minutely. "No…I mean before."

"When?"

"When you said I was crazy…"

"When did I say you were crazy?" Sam asked, fork frozen halfway to his mouth. He let it fall gently back into the bowl as he sat forward and crossed his arms on the table. "Dean, I…I don't remember that."

Dean shrugged as his brother struggled to find words. "You were high as a kite, it doesn't matter. Was just wonderin'." Dean opened the top of his tray, took one look at the steaming plate of meat and carbs, and considered it for a moment before allowing the tray lid to close.

"What exactly did I say?"

Dean reached across the table and grabbed a beer from the cardboard box next to Sam's arm. "I told you that the doc was supposed to be the wraith because I saw it in the mirror, even though he wasn't. You said I had been half nuts since Hell, and that I had probably just cracked." Dean popped the top of the bottle off and sucked half the amber liquid down before mumbling, "You were high, it doesn't matter."

"Dean…" Sam abandoned his salad and slid into the chair closer to Dean. He knew that if he gave Dean too much space then he would have the opportunity to bolt, but now Sam was in between him and the door. Dean couldn't get away from this, or from him. "Dean, of course it matters. But I swear, I didn't mean it!"

Dean wrenched himself away from the table, but Sam beat him to standing.

"Sam, I don't want to talk about this," he growled, attempting to shove past him. "I never should've brought it up."

Sam grabbed onto Dean's shoulder as he passed, whirling him around. Unfortunately, in his split-second decision to confront his brother and force him to face his feelings, he had forgotten just how much Dean hated that. Sam was met with a swinging fist close to his face, which he dodged easily after so many years of practice. The damage was done. In the moment that Sam took his eyes off Dean, he was on him. The tussle only lasted a few moments, but ended with the two brothers on the floor, Sam pinning Dean with his knees and pressing both fists to his chest to keep him down.

"Dean, knock it off!" he shouted. Sam may have had the height and the weight advantage, but Dean still had him beat in experience and willingness to play dirty.

All of a sudden, Dean went slack, as though all the fight had gone out of him. "Get offa me," he grumbled, but made no move to attempt to push Sam off.

Sam patted his brother's chest twice, right above the heart, taking comfort in the quick thrum right under the skin, before sliding off and sitting with his arms resting on his knees. "I don't think you're crazy, Dean," he huffed. "You went to HELL. If you were acting…off…after you got back, I sure as hell didn't hold it against you. You were tortured, after a year of knowing that you were going to die. You were sh— _shredded_ by Hellhounds. All for me. So, I didn't care if you were speaking in tongues or walking backwards everywhere we went. You're _back_. And…I know I haven't been the best brother since you got back. With Ruby, and…and Lilith…I know I've never really apologized for the way I acted before. I know, I know. I apologized for what happened in the hotel room, but I never apologized for all the _lies_ and the way I treated you. So, I'm really sorry. And I'm sorry I called you crazy while I was high."

It took a while, but he finally heard Dean huff a sigh and haul himself into a sitting position. He easily maneuvered himself so that he was sitting next to Sam, knees, feet, and shoulders pressed together.

"I never shoulda let you talk me into that hunt," Dean mumbled, rubbing a hand over his face. "Martin or no Martin, we really didn't need to get screwed over by that wraith bitch."

Sam chuckled, relieved to see Dean coming around to being his normal surly, sarcastic, badass self. "Well, you got screwed over," he countered, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck and looking up at the hardwood beams supporting the ceiling. "Me, on the other hand…"

Dean shoved at him as he made to stand up. "Nope. If I'm not allowed to be crazy, you're not allowed to think you're angry all the time."

Sam grasped the hand that Dean extended down to him and allowed himself to be pulled up. "But Dean, I told you. I am angry, all the time!"

"So?" Dean questioned, grabbing another beer and popping it open in a practiced move. "You think I'm not? Sammy, it's End Times. We just lost two of our best players, and our third is stuck in a metal chair with wheels. You think you caused this because you killed Lilith when everyone was telling you not to. I think I caused this because I let Alistair get to me. Face it, Sam. We both got played, and now they're tryin' to play us again. Lucifer's tryin' to get to you; Michael's tryin' to get to me through that dick Zachariah. Cas is off tryin' to find his father. This whole thing has just been a mess since the get go, so you've got a right to be angry about it! Get pissed! Use it to get back at these dicks for what they've done. 'Cause that's what I'm gonna do."

Dean held out the freshly opened bottle for Sam, who hesitated only for a moment before taking it.

"You know…Lucifer told me basically the same thing after we tried to take him out," Sam mused before taking a sip of his lukewarm beer.

Dean groaned dramatically, making Sam smirk. "Jesus, Sam. I must be goin' crazy if I'm starting to sound like the Devil."

Sam laughed. "Well, I always thought that if we lived normal lives, you'd be the bad influence rebel, and I'd be the good kid."

Dean considered him for a moment before turning on his heel, collecting his dinner and the unopened case of beer, and heading towards the door. "If I'm such a bad influence, I'll just go have my dinner outside on my Baby. Don't wanna corrupt you or anything," Dean skulked playfully as he opened the door and headed out into the night.

Sam's laughter as he chased after his brother was heard only by the stars and the fireflies, but it was genuine nonetheless. Lucifer, Michael, angels, and demons could not ruin this normal night for the Winchester brothers. Out in the peace and quiet of Blue Ridge, Georgia, nobody cared that the two brothers were so dangerously codependent upon one another. That was the only way to live in their world, and, in that little slice of paradise, all was finally right again in their world.

* * *

 **A/N:** So, I feel like that was a little break from the angst. Strange. _Changing Channels_ , one of the funniest episodes, had an angsty chapter, and this angsty episode had an angst-free chapter. My mind is a strange place to live, guys. Anyway, have a good rest of the week and a safe, happy, healthy, and fun weekend. I will see you all back here on Tuesday!


	94. Winchester Luck

**A/N:** Hey gang. Hope everybody had a good week. It honestly amazes me that, with the posting of this chapter, there are only 10 chapters left until the end of season 5. Time really flies. Thanks to zekeschance (x2), Sallyannerenee, DearHart, Colby's girl, Tomb Raider and Walking Dead, hectatess, shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod, and lenail125 for all the words of encouragement. They really help with the writing process.

So this chapter is tagged to 5x12, _Swap Meat_ , and it addresses an issue I think we all had with the episode, but we're not going to get into that right now. I hope you all enjoy it, and please review at the end! We're almost to season 6; please don't quit on me now!

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

 **Winchester Luck**

It was New Years Eve 1999 the first time Sam stepped into a bar. Dean had made him a fake ID that said he was 21, because Dean felt that the legal drinking age being so high was stupid, and took him to one of the nicer bars in the one-horse town they were crashing in to celebrate the millennium.

"Dean, you know this isn't my kinda scene, man," Sam complained as they walked past the neon lit windows towards the front door.

"Ahh, Sammy. Naïve little Sammy; how do you know if you're never been here before?" Dean cajoled as he shoulder-bumped his brother through the open door.

"Are you saying it doesn't bother you that _neither_ of us are legal?" Sam hissed as they walked through the crowd to an empty two-person table.

"Lighten up, dude. Nothin' I haven't done before. 'Sides, my birthday is only a couple of weeks away. Act like you belong here, and you do. Howdy, sweetheart!" Dean called to the waitress as she walked up to them.

"Well, lookie who it is!" The busty redhead greeted him with a wink and a smile. "I was wonderin' if you had forgotten about me."

"Ahh, could never do that, darlin'. Can't ring in 2000 without looking at your pretty face."

The young woman giggled shrilly and Sam resisted the urge to roll his eyes, shifting uncomfortably as he did.

"And who's this cutie?"

Sam looked up in shock and fear as he felt Dean's arm wrap around his shoulders.

"My kid brother, Sam. First time ringing in the New Year as a man. Go ahead, Sammy. Show her."

At Dean's reassuring nod, Sam passed her the fake ID card, but she barely looked at it before turning her attention back to Dean.

"So, what can I get for you boys…sorry, _men_?" she purred.

"2 bacon cheeseburgers, extra bacon, with curly fries. Oh, and two beers. Thanks sweetheart," Dean replied before Sam could get a word in.

"Sure thing, boys. Be right back with that." She turned on her heel and flounced back behind the counter with Dean's eyes following her every step of the way.

"Mhm," he groaned as he turned back to face Sam. "Women, Sammy. God's gift, I'm tellin' ya. What?"

Sam kept his bitch face fixed on his brother. "Dean, if you brought me here just to play wingman, I'd really rather not."

Dean shot him a look that was tinged with sadness. Not very many people would have been able to spot the hurt behind the bravado, but Sam was well practiced in the art of reading his brother and knew that he had unintentionally hurt his brother's feelings.

"Fine. We'll eat and then I'll take you home," Dean shrugged. "Just figured you'd want to do something to ring it in the new century, you know?"

Sam felt a pang. He knew that, deep down, Dean was trying to help him. He'd complained a few times that he often felt left out when Dean and Dad went out drinking and left him at the motel du jour, and it seemed like Dean was doing all he could to rectify the situation. With John out of state for the past couple of weeks, Dean had taken it upon himself to make his kid brother feel loved and special and like he was part of the team. Sam felt almost ashamed of himself. He knew it wasn't easy on Dean when Dad was away on business, especially when Dean would rather be out there hunting too, but it made him feel even worse knowing that Dean had opted to stay back with him this time around so that Sam could finish his last week of school before Christmas break.

"No, Dean…it's okay. I actually kinda like this song," Sam said convincingly as the waitress slid their beers in front of them and walked away with a wink at Dean.

Dean stared at him over the top of his tall glass. "Really? Since when are you a Seger fan?"

Sam shrugged as he picked up his glass of frothy beer and sniffed it suspiciously. Sure, he'd had hard liquor before when he needed liquid painkiller after a hunt, but never beer. "I don't know; _Night Moves_ is a pretty great song."

Dean held his glass out to clink softly against Sam's. "That it is, little brother. That it is."

Both Winchesters took a draught from their beer, Sam only choking a little on the unusual bitter taste. Dean chuckled.

"Man, I remember my first beer…" With that comment, Dean opened a whole night's worth of conversation without a single mention of hunting or Dad or the tragedy that seemed to follow them around like a bad smell. It was nice. It was _normal_. They talked about school and girls and some of the crazier things they had done as kids. They didn't stop talking when the waitress brought their food, and Sam didn't pause the conversation to complain about how unhealthy their meal was. They talked right through their meals, and when the waitress came back to their table right as the countdown started, Dean paid her no mind as he picked up his glass and clinked it against Sam's again. "Happy New Year, little brother."

"Happy New Year, De'," Sam yawned as he drained the last of his second beer. "Man, we should do this more often. This was nice."

Dean smiled. Not his "I'm-about-to-score" smile or his "I-don't-believe-you-but-I'm-not-gonna-show-how-much-you've-hurt-me" smile either. It was one of his genuine, blinding, happy smiles that only appeared once in a blue moon. "Yeah, we really should. And I guess since the computers didn't totally bug out and end the world, we can."

"I never believed in Y2K anyway, Dean. The technology—"

Dean snickered as he shoved Sam's coat at him, successfully shutting him up. "Always gotta be a buzzkill, huh Sammy?"

"Not a— _hic!_ —buzzkill!" Sam muttered as he pulled on his coat, listing a little to the side as he did.

Dean laughed full out, tipping backwards slightly as he reached forward and pulled Sam's jacket all the way around him and helped him thread his arm through the sleeve. "C'mon, lightweight. Let's get you home before Dad finds out I brought you here and beats my ass."

Sam playfully shoved away from his brother but willingly allowed himself to be pulled back under Dean's arm. If everyday was spent being his big brother's little brother, 2000 would be an amazing year.

* * *

Dean knew that something was off. Sam didn't just disappear for two hours without checking in, especially not after the past couple of years they had had. He also didn't deliver Dean his food without making some sort of bitchy comment about carbs or grease or whatever other health food craze he was onto this week. Sam never pushed the driving thing unless Dean was concussed or severely injured. Sam didn't like his music, or his food, and he definitely didn't hook up with cougars in a dingy bar. So yeah, Dean knew that something was up with his little brother.

But sitting in a bar, drinking beer and eating burgers and having a freaking normal conversation, it reminded Dean of that New Year's Eve, when it was just the two of them against the world. Nothing to hunt, no Devil on their tail, no back alley crossroads deals or demon blood addictions to contend with. And maybe it made him naïve or just plain stupid, but part of Dean wanted to be willfully ignorant and believe Sam when he said it was the brand new him. He wanted to believe that his little brother was healing from all that life had put him through the past five years. It was stupid and reckless and basically impossible, but he wanted to believe in Sam's new hopeful outlook. He should have known that Winchesters never got that lucky.

* * *

 **A/N:** Explanation time. Someone asked me why I wasn't furious that Dean didn't recognize that Sam wasn't Sam, and I came up with a few explanations, but the one that stuck with me is this: Perhaps, with his youthful exuberance and desire to hang out with Dean, Gary reminded Dean of a much younger Sam. A teenage Sam who still looked at Dean like he could do no wrong. Not the way Sam looks at him now. I don't think that Dean was just ignorant about it; he knew. He must have known. But he chose to ignore Sam's out of character actions in the hopes that Sam was healing.

Anyway. I hope you all have an amazing week and a safe weekend. Happy early Canada Day to all my fellow canucks! And Happy Early 150th Birthday to my home and native land. Love you guys!


	95. Trials and Tribulations

**A/N:** Happy Independence Day, America! I hope everyone out there is being safe and healthy this holiday weekend. I also hope my fellow Canucks are sleeping off their sesquicentennial hangovers. It was a good, fulfilling weekend on my end, and I hope everyone else can say the same.

Thanks to waitingforAslan, bagelcat1, Colby's girl, Dragonsrule18 (x2), hectatess, shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod, lenail125, and Tomb Raider and Walking Dead for the awesome reviews. You guys always give me such insight into my own work, which is something that I love.

So, this one is tagged to 5x11, _The Song Remains the Same_. First off, screw Anna. Next, we need the inevitable finale of Supernatural to have Matt Cohen as Michael. He's just delightful. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy the chapter, and I look forward to hearing what you have to say about it.

 **Disclaimer** **:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

 **Trials and Tribulations**

Nobody expected much from John Elliot Winchester when he was growing up. When Henry Winchester vanished into thin air one night with only a lingering promise that he would see his son "first thing in the morning", nobody quite knew what to make of it. If he had run off, then it must have been either his wife's or his son's fault, right? Henry was a stand-up, class act, gentleman of a man, who would never walk out on his faithful wife or his adorable young son, unless she was cheating on him or he was a miserable brat of a child. If he had taken his own life, then there must have been something drastically wrong at home. Henry Winchester was not a man who shirked his responsibilities.

After Henry disappeared without a trace, and the police in Normal, Illinois closed his case after finding his car outside of an abandoned warehouse with only corpses inside, nobody expected anything from John. Some thought that he would grow up as a troubled young man in the wake of his father's disappearance. Some thought he would abandon his family. Some even thought that he would grow up to be the same hard-ass, decidedly non-father-like figure as his step-dad.

At first, it made John angry when Millie married Thomas Bower. A veteran of the Second World War, anything could set Tom off. Loud bangs, too much quiet, dogs barking, someone's engine stalling. He would have moods occasionally, and sometimes they were so bad that he would hit Millie or John when they did something wrong. It made John hate Henry for putting them in the position of having to essentially replace him, of having to fill the giant hole that he had ripped in their lives when he had died or disappeared or walked away. He hated Henry on behalf of his mother, who hid the bruises behind a smile and a hug to her 12-year-old son. Luckily, John was able to stop the bruises when he was 16, on the football and wrestling teams, and calmly informed his step-father that he would put him in the ground if he ever laid a finger on himself or on his mother again. That threat and a move to Lawrence later, and Thomas became a new man. Beloved by his neighbours and his wife, and proud of his son when he announced that he was going to Vietnam to fight for his country.

It seemed to John that every moment since the move to Lawrence had led him to this moment. Threatening his step-father, moving to Lawrence, meeting and having a fairly strong immediate dislike for the cold and stand-offish Mary Campbell. Coming back from war and falling in love with her right off the bat. Her father dying of a heart attack and her mother dying of grief. Getting married in a small chapel in Vegas with a few of his Marine buddies there as witnesses. Moving in together, getting the job at the garage. And it was all a lie. All of a sudden, he was back to being that doubt-filled 4-year-old boy wondering why his father hadn't woken him up that morning like he had promised.

Monsters were real. His wife hunted them. Her whole _family_ hunted them. And she had never told him. Was his father an innocent bystander who was killed by a monster? Was he planning on coming home, only to get killed by something out of his nightmares? Was his last thought of his son? Or did he know about monsters? How many people knew? Did his father hunt? Was he killed by a monster while on a hunt? His whole life had been turned upside-down, and it wasn't helping that Mary and her cousins were trying to handle him with kid gloves. He had been in some of the worst conditions in Vietnam. He had grown up with an abusive dick as a step-dad and, even though Thomas had changed his tune and John had forgiven him, he had never forgotten. He could make a damn sigil.

"That's really good."

John heard a voice behind him and turned to face Sam, or was it Dean? They were eerily similar, even though they looked completely different. "You come to check on me?"

"Uh…I wanted to say I—I'm sorry about all this. I—I know it's a lot," he said with a sad grin.

John nodded thoughtfully. This guy seemed so young, and yet so tired. It honestly reminded him of his own father, his real father. Henry had sometimes come home from work with an exhausted look in his eyes, even though he always had a smile for his son, and a hug and kiss for his wife.

"Look, how long have you known about this…hunting stuff?" John asked, laying his knife down on the windowsill.

"Pretty much forever," Sam paused. "My dad raised me in it."

John felt his heart stutter. "You're serious? Who the hell does that to a kid?"

"Well…I mean…for the record, Mary's parents did."

That comment did not help. Who thought it was okay to turn a kid into a soldier? What kind of father makes their kid defend themselves before their time? What kind of father makes their kid face monsters and fight them? It wasn't fair and it sure as hell wasn't right.

"I don't care," John scoffed. "You know, what kind of irresponsible bastard…Y-you know, you could've been killed!"

Sam laughed. "I, uh…came kind of close."

"The number it must've done on your head…Your father was supposed to protect you," John added as though he hadn't heard Sam's comment. He paced back and forth in front of the aged window. He knew a little something about father's who were supposed to protect their sons.

Yet, he had seen Sam with his brother. He knew that Sam hadn't been without protection. But what had that done to them both? How had that aged Dean? How had it affected their relationship, knowing that they were all they could rely on? The way they acted together, almost seamless with little to no communication…it was strange and almost magical. John had seen it with certain members of his unit in Vietnam. Soldiers who became completely intertwined in each other in order to survive. Their father had turned them into soldiers, just like Henry had turned John into a soldier. God, none of their lives were fair.

"He was trying," Sam interrupted his internal monologue. "He died trying. Believe me." John watched as he sat down on the bench under the window. "I used to be mad at him. I—I mean, I used to…I used to hate the guy. But now I…I get it. He was just doing the best he could. And he was trying to keep it together in—in—in this impossible situation. See…My mom, um…She was amazing, beautiful, and she was the love of his life. And she got killed. And…I think he would have gone crazy if he didn't do something. Truth is, um, my dad died before I got to tell him that I understand why he did what he did. And I forgive him for what it did to us. I do. And I just—I love him."

John nodded thoughtfully. He could understand Sam's mixed feelings towards his father. Sometimes John wondered if Henry walked out on them or killed himself to protect him and Millie from some dark aspect of his life. He often volleyed between being angry and feeling sorry for his father for making the decision that he did. Lately, he had been more sad than angry that Henry wasn't around, no matter what his reasons were. With Mary being pregnant, he wished his father could be there to share with him the tricks of the trade that is fatherhood. And knowing that he was becoming a father himself, he found himself forgiving his father for walking out on him. The weight of that grief and grudge had been holding him down for so long, that he had felt freer over the past few months.

Dean walked in, nodded respectfully to him, and walked close to Sam for a private word.

Staring at them from across the room, John was struck again by the way they interacted. It was the burden that they shared, John decided, that made them who they were. Yes, the way their father treated them was horrific, but it had brought them together and made their bond unbreakable. Henry's abandonment had similarly affected John, and he had a fleeting wish that he had had someone like Dean or Sam alongside him to lean on in the wake of his father's 'death', but he knew that it had turned him into the man he who Mary had fallen for.

John made a vow to himself that he would never abandon his family the way Henry had, and that he would never mistreat his children the way Sam and Dean's father had hurt them. No matter how their trials and tribulations had turned the three of them into heroes, sung or unsung, he refused to hurt his family in that way.

* * *

 **A/N:** So, I found myself in a bit of a pickle in this one. In one of the earlier chapters of this collection, I said that John's stepdad was a dick. But in _In the Beginning_ , one of the older gentlemen in the diner tells John to say hi to his old man for him. Now, we know it can't be Henry, but John's stepdad can't be a total prick if others are so jovial about him. So I hope I was able to patch over that little plot hole. Please let me know what you thought. America, please continue to sleep off your hangovers and celebrate your freedom. I shall see you all next week. Adieu everybody!


	96. Nothing Left

**A/N:** Hey gang. So, uh, I actually just finished the chapter for Swan Song the other night. Had a good cry when I was done, too. 104 chapters, done. I'll leave my big speech for chapter 104, but I just wanted to thank all of you for sticking with me even this long. Special thanks to Colby's girl, shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod, Sallyannerenee (x2), Bjester74 (x3), bagelcat1, hectatess, Tomb Raider and Walking Dead, and celinenaville for the reviews and the good conversations that go along with them.

This chapter is tagged to 5x14, _My Bloody Valentine_. Great episode, with a heartbreaking conclusion. Here's my take on what happened just before that last scene.

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

 **Nothing Left**

"You gotta do everything you did last time."

The demand, uttered through heaves of air and tiny, suppressed moans of pain, startled Dean as he helped his brother down Bobby's stairs and into the panic room.

"What are you talking about, Sam?" Dean grumbled as he shifted Sam's weight to his other side so he could open the heavy iron door.

"Y-you gotta tie me down and…l-leave me in there. Like last time," Sam replied in barely a whisper.

The detox had set in quicker than it had last time, with Sam's shakes and a wicked migraine kicking in before they had gotten out of Rochester, New York. It had set in so quickly that Dean had almost demanded that Cas fly them to Bobby's place, and leave the car behind. But Sam had looked at him with those damned puppy dog eyes, and Dean couldn't do it. Gripe as he may, Sam loved that car just as much as Dean did. It was his safe place, and Dean wouldn't deprive him of that, even if his little brother's telekinesis threw them both off of a bridge.

"Sam…last time…I…"

Sam was already shaking his head. "De', what's gonna happen in there…you can't b-be in there with me."

Dean felt a chill run through him. "Sammy, I ain't leavin' you alone in this metal trap again." Last time he had felt hurt, confused, betrayed, angry, and scared by what his little brother had been doing behind his back, but this time was different. This time, Sam hadn't had a choice. Based on how Cas had been busy devouring raw beef, and those two lovebirds had eaten each other alive, Sam literally had no control this time. "This isn't like last time, man."

Sam heaved a feeble laugh as his legs cramped up and went out from beneath him. Dean was close enough to catch him and maneuver him onto the edge of the metal cot that had remained in the room. "D-d-doesn't change…the fact…that the e-effects are gonna be the same. Y-you can't fix this one, bro."

Dean held his shoulder steady as Sam carefully pulled his legs up so he could lie down on the thin, uncomfortable mattress. "Yeah, well…I can try." Dean had allowed his emotions to get the better of him the first time he had to lock Sam up in the panic room to go through his withdrawal. He'd allowed Sam to scare him off. That wouldn't be happening again. "C'mon, let's get you settled. We've got a long couple of nights ahead of us."

Sam smiled up at him as he got as comfortable as he could on the cold metal cot. "Famine was wrong, you know?" he coughed out, wincing as his eyes caught the bright, cold lights on the ceiling.

"Oh yeah?" Dean questioned doubtfully as he pulled a thick felt blanket overtop of Sam.

"You're not empty, Dean," Sam answered with his eyes closed. "You just care about everyone else so much that you've got nothing left for yourself."

Dean stared down at his little brother, about to go through Hell for the second time and trying to reassure _him_. Dean unexpectedly felt his eyes well up. What on Earth had he ever done to deserve this kid?

"Yeah, whatever you say, Dr. Phil," Dean replied through a watery smile, though Sam didn't have his eyes open to see it. He did, however, open his eyes when he heard the telltale scrape of a stool against an iron floor.

"Dean…y-you can't."

"Just shaddup and relax, Sammy. I'll get the hell out of Dodge when you start flingin' things around," Dean grumbled as he relaxed against the wall and opened the _Batman_ comic he had bought at a gas station in Indiana.

"That comes later," Sam said quietly as he pulled himself into a tight ball in the center of the cot. "First comes the hallucinations."

"Of what?"

"Last time it was Alistair, Mom…you. Even me. Well, kid me, anyway."

"What did they have to say?" Dean asked, laying the comic book aside. They had never really touched upon this particular subject before, considering how what went down right after had taken precedence.

"Alistair tortured me," Sam replied softly, rolling over so he wasn't facing Dean. "Mom…Mom said she was proud of me." The hitch in Sam's breath told Dean all he needed to know, so he moved so he was sitting in the small well that Sam's bent legs created. "Kid me was disappointed in the way we turned out, and you…"

"What did I say Sam?" Dean laid a gentle hand on Sam's bicep, squeezing comfortingly.

"You told me I was a monster…and that I didn't mean anything to you."

Dean sighed. Considering the state of their brotherhood the last time Sam detoxed, Dean wasn't exactly surprised that that was what Sam's subconscious told him.

"Sam…I'm only gonna say this once, alright? You're my brother. I've been takin' care of you since I saw you in Mom's arms in the hospital on the day you were born. Nothing's ever gonna change the fact that, since that day, you have been my number one priority. Nothin', not even demon blood or bein' Lucifer's vessel. You hear me?" Expecting a snarky remark about a chick-flick moment, Dean was surprised when his heartfelt speech was met with Sam's silence. "Sammy?" Dean stood up and shook Sam's shoulder. "Sammy, you okay?"

"Get the handcuffs," Sam mumbled through clenched teeth.

"Sam…"

"Dean…please. Chain me up and get the hell out of here," Sam cracked his eyes open, and Dean caught sight of the black rimmed irises standing out against the bloodshot whites of his little brother's eyes. "You don't need to see this."

Dean swallowed around the lump in his throat and found himself nodding. "Okay, buddy. Whatever you want." Dean quickly and efficiently tied Sam to the bed and laid a hand on his sweltering forehead. "I'm gonna be right outside okay. Just remember, you're not alone in this." Sam nodded his head shallowly. "Okay, bud. I'll see you soon."

Dean took one last look back at his brother, feeling his heart clench at the sad and lonely image, and gently shut the door behind him, heaving the metal bar into place. He rested his forehead against the cool metal and hoped that Sam could maybe, somehow know he was just on the other side of the door.

"Dean?"

"Jesus, Cas! We've talked about this!" Dean snapped, wrenching himself around and facing the angel who still had no sense of personal space.

Castiel took a few steps back. "I apologize. I just wanted to ensure that you were alright."

"I'm not the one I'm worried about right now, Cas," Dean said with a self-deprecating grin.

"I understand. Sam is your brother; therefore, you are more worried about his personal issues than you are your own," Castiel responded, turning towards the door as Sam began pleading with someone who Dean knew was not there.

"No…no! Please, no!" Dean clenched his eyes shut as Sam's screams of pain tore at his soul. "Dean! Dean, please! Dean!"

Dean leaned his head back against the door and rested his hand on the bar.

"Dean, you cannot enter the panic room to be with Sam. Such an action has potentially fatal consequences," Cas assured, stepping closer to Dean.

"I know…" Dean murmured, stepping back again.

"Let me out of here! Please! Help!" Sam screamed.

Dean swallowed tightly as he felt his eyes begin to water for the second time that hour.

"That's not him in there. Not really…" Castiel attempted to reassure Dean, but found himself out of his depth. Sam was always the one to pull Dean back from the edge. Castiel found himself unable to help alleviate his friend's pain.

"I know…" Dean repeated, keeping his eyes locked on the door.

"Dean, Sam just has to get it out of his system. Then he'll be—"

Dean shook his head as he shakily stepped away from the panic room. "Listen, I just…uh…I just need to get some air."

Dean turned and took the stairs two at a time. He quickly passed Bobby in the kitchen, who may or may not have said something, Dean didn't know. He found himself out under the stars in the middle of the salvage yard. He ran his hands anxiously through his hair as he felt the tears come back to his eyes.

He didn't know what to do. He didn't know who he could turn to. Sam was hurting so bad. Castiel was trying to find his absentee father. Bobby was confined to a wheelchair. Ellen and Jo were dead, just like Mom and Dad and Pastor Jim and Caleb. And Sam was trying so hard to be good and make up for everything that had happened, and then something like this rattles him. It wasn't fair.

"Please…" Dean whispered, folding his hands. "I can't…" " _I can't do this alone. I can't handle this all by myself. I can't do it without Sam._ " "I need some help. Please?"

* * *

 **A/N:** I think we all needed some help after that episode, am I right? Tears galore. Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed. Please leave a review. We're getting close to Swan Song, guys. Please don't quit on me now. We don't get to quit in this family. Love you all. Have a safe and relaxing week, and a wonderful weekend. I shall see you all on Tuesday.


	97. For the Love of Family, Part 1

**A/N:** Thanks to Bjester74 for the brilliant idea for this one. Hope I did you proud. This one is dedicated to you. Also thanks to Guest, SammysGirl42 (x12), lenail125, Colby's girl, zendog, shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod, piece2gether, Dragonsrule18, hectatess, Tomb Raider and Walking Dead, celinenaville, and DAForever62442 for the reviews.

This chapter is tagged to 5x15, _Dean Men Don't Wear Plaid_. Love this episode, and I adore Jody, but I didn't want to go the Jody-route just yet. Hope you all enjoy the chapter!

* * *

 **For the Love of Family, Part 1**

" _Jess! Jess, no!"_

 _Dean shoved him out of the brownstone and pushed him back to where the Impala sat, sturdy and inviting, just as she had always been during his childhood._

" _Dean, let me go!" Sam cried, trying to push past his broad older brother._

 _Dean didn't respond, only pushed him so that he was sitting on the warm hood of the car._

" _Dean, please!" Sam tried again, his voice cracking as the tears welled up in his eyes. "Jess…she…"_

 _Dean leant down so he was face to face with Sam and wrapped a hand comfortingly around the back of his neck. "It's okay, Sammy. It's okay."_

 _A sudden sob escaped Sam's mouth, and he found his head buried in Dean's leather clad shoulder as his older brother pulled him close._

" _Jess…"_

" _I know, Sammy…Shh…I'm sorry, buddy…I'm so sorry…"_

At the time, Sam had been unreasonably angry at Dean for what happened that night. The thoughts of " _If he hadn't dragged me away from school, she'd still be alive_ " and " _Why couldn't he have left me in there with her?_ " swirled around in his mind, making it even more impossible for him to sleep. Deep down, he knew that it wasn't fair to blame Dean for the death of his girlfriend, but the hurt outweighed the logic.

He never told Dean how angry he was at him, but sometimes he thought that Dean knew. In those first few weeks back on the road together, Sam would sometimes look over at Dean and see him with a sad, pensive look on his face. Stuck as he was in his own grief and anger, he never really questioned it, but if he had, he would have found that Dean also blamed himself for Jess' death. Those same questions rattled around in his brain, unable to be silenced by the usual methods of booze and dames. He had spent his entire life trying to protect Sam, but, in protecting him, he had only hurt him. It wasn't a choice he regretted ( _he'd rather have Sam alive and hating him than dead and not feeling anything_ ), but he regretted how much it hurt Sam.

" _Sam…I'm sorry…Sammy, I got this one. I'll do it…You don't have to."_

 _Dean's words echoed in Sam's head until the sound of the gunshot overtook them. With his finger off the trigger, it was like all the strength went out of his body, and he slowly sank to the floor. He leaned his back against the cupboards and leaned his arms on his knees, and his head on his folded hands. He let the gun fall gently to the floor as he felt the tears come faster and faster. He choked back a sob as his emotions overwhelmed him._

 _Mom…Jess…His whole life at Stanford…Dean, almost twice…now Madison. So much loss, so much unresolved_ _ **pain**_ _. Sure, he hadn't known Madison for all that long, but she had been like that last link to his old life. Being a lawyer, living that 9 to 5 life, having a home and a beautiful girl to go home to. Yet, she, like Jessica, had been tainted by his sordid past. He broke everything he touched. It just wasn't_ _ **fair**_ _._

 _Sam jumped slightly when a gentle hand landed on his shoulder and squeezed comfortingly._

" _Sam, I know this hurts, but I need you to move for me, okay? C'mon, bud. Let's get you up." Dean's words had a gentle urgency in them, as though he too would have preferred staying in that kitchen but knew that there were more important things to do._

 _Sam surreptitiously wiped his eyes on his sleeve and looked at his brother's face to avoid looking elsewhere. Dean's eyes were sorrowful and Sam spotted what looked like a single tear-track along the left side of Dean's face, but disregarded it as a trick of the light flaring off the water in his own eyes._

 _Dean bundled him up and out the door, blocking his view from the carnage left behind in the kitchen. Dean settled him into the passenger seat and hesitated for a moment before saying, "Just stay here, okay? I'll be right back."_

 _Dean disappeared from view, leaving Sam to consider the rising sun over the horizon with only his morbid thoughts for company._

 _When Dean returned, he climbed into the driver's seat and sped off down the coast, driving as fast and as far as any of them could manage before needing to crash._

* * *

Dean was fuming. Bobby, kicking them out because they wanted to protect him? Aiming a gun at them because he would rather protect his zombie wife than the two boys who had grown to love him?

"Look, man. Bigger fish, okay?" Sam attempted to soothe. He was mad too, so he knew where Dean was coming from, but he also knew that if somebody had brought Jess back from the dead, he wouldn't exactly be itching to let his brother put her down. "I mean, we got a bunch of zombies about to turn this town into a giant chew toy."

"Yeah, and he's alone in the house making pie with one of 'em!" Dean raged. Everything he had done, everything _they_ had done, and Bobby was throwing it back in his face.

"Alright. So?" Sam questioned cautiously, not knowing where his brother was going with his rage-filled speech.

"So! I'm gonna have to go back there and…and…and kill her. That's the only thing I can think of…" Dean trailed off, a pensive look on his face.

Sam hesitated, thinking back on all the times in his life when Dean had made that hard call. Pulling him out of the nursery fire and leaving Mom and Dad behind. Pulling him out of the Stanford fire and fighting against him to keep him out. Offering to kill Madison and doing the clean up afterwards because he wanted to spare his little brother any pain he possibly could. Now he was willing to risk Bobby's wrath and kill Karen to save Bobby from both his potential indecision in the moment and the pain of having to put his wife down, again.

Sam felt heartachingly proud of his older brother. When people saw them, they often thought Dean was the brooding bad boy and Sam was the sensitive one, but Sam knew that persona was just a mask Dean used. It took a certain level of sensitivity and soul and heart to care for others in their darkest moments, and Dean had that in spades. It took a special kind of strength to protect others from pain by offering yourself up instead. It was something about his brother that had always inspired Sam, even to the point of wanting to become a public defender. He saw his brother place himself in front of everyone and say to the evils of the world " _If you want them, you're going to have to go through me_." And it wasn't just monsters or demons that Dean defended innocents from, it was pain and sorrow and heartache. Whether it was with victims who weren't quite sure what had just happened to them or the families of those he could not save, Dean always did his very best to ensure that they got to live their lives as normally as possible. He'd protected Sam for as long as he could, and now he was spreading his protective shields in front of Bobby as well.

Sam bit back a proud albeit watery smile and sighed. There was still a job to do and a town to save.

"If he sees you, you're a dead man." _"Please stay safe."_

"Well, then, I guess I won't let him see me," Dean replied, a cheeky grin on his face as they prepared to go their separate ways. _"Don't worry, I will be."_

* * *

 **A/N:** And there's another chapter in the bag! I just really wanted to take a second to thank you guys for getting me to over a thousand reviews! It really means a lot to me to know that you all enjoy the series so much. So, thanks to all of you, and I shall see you all next week, for a chapter I've had in the bank since the very beginning.


	98. One Man's Trash

**A/N:** Oh. My. Chuck. I am so, so, so sorry you guys! I've been taking a Creative Writing course all week, so I've been working on assignments for that and on my own stuff, and I've been exhausted, so it totally slipped my mind that it was Tuesday **_yesterday!_** I am so sorry, you guys!

I'd like to thank Bjester74, NightReader22 (x5), hollyhobbit101, Tomb Raider and Walking Dead, bagelcat1, hectatess, shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod, SammysGirl42, and DisappearingKangaroo for the lovely reviews.

Alright, so I've had this chapter written for at least a year, but probably way longer. It's tagged to 5x16, _Dark Side of the Moon_. I feel like that's explanation enough. Please enjoy, and leave me a review at the end to tell me how I did.

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

 **One Man's Trash**

 **Year 7**

The odor of singed flesh hung in the air as Alistair wiped his blade clean of the ruby red blood. He placed the gleaming, serrated knife on the copper tray and leaned down close to his victim's ear.

"Come now, Dean," he hissed. "Just say the word and I'll lay down my blade, and you can walk away from all of this."

Dean was magically, and painfully, knit back together, and his green eyes pierced through the veil of blackness that surrounded the pit. Using his freshly rejuvenated body, he worked up enough phlegm to spit in his torturer's face. "I would say 'Go to Hell', but the sentiment would be lost on you, you demonic jackass." Dean's voice was raw from all the screaming, but the defiance rang through with every word.

"Dean, Dean, Dean," Alistair tsked as he slunk away, his voice echoing eerily behind him. "One day I will break you. You're not as strong as your daddy."

He slammed the door of the chamber shut and, with the clanging of the key in the lock, the memory started.

" _Dean, guess what?" A twelve-year-old Sammy came barreling into the motel room._

" _What Sam?" Dean groaned. At 16, Dean was struggling. He still loved his brother more than anything in his life, but he was trying to figure out where he fit into the world. Brother, Father, Son, Hunter, Student, Teenager; the labels swarmed in his mind, each trying to take the top spot._

 _He knew that his relationship with his family was…unorthodox, but he wouldn't trade it for anything in the world._

 _Being a brother to Sam was a natural instinct, something he must have been innately born with or something, 'cause he never really had to be told how to be a big brother._

 _Having basically raised Sam on his own, Sam's accomplishments became his accomplishments, became symbols that he hadn't totally screwed his kid up._

 _He did everything his father asked of him, but sometimes he felt as though he would never be enough._

 _He was a damn good hunter; Uncle Bobby had said so. But he was also the youngest hunter anybody in the biz had ever heard of, and most hunters ended up dead before they hit 50, so was it really something he wanted to be for the rest of his life?_

 _He was smart, he just didn't apply himself. Every teacher from every school he'd ever been to had written that on his report card. He was a whiz in physics and autoshop. He did pretty decently in math and science. He loved to read. He just didn't have the time to do it all because of his other responsibilities. Besides, if he stayed a hunter, he wouldn't need any of that academic crap._

 _Then again, he was just 16, God damn it! He shouldn't be this stressed out!_

 _Dean knew that he had already given up his only opportunity to get out of the life when he had left Sonny's place a month or so earlier. He also knew that he wouldn't go back and change anything even if he could. Dad had just dumped Sam at Bobby's and left him to rot in jail, which he woulda done without Sonny's boys home. Sam needed him; he just wished he knew what the rest of the world needed from him._

 _Sam launched himself up on the bed next to Dean. "Stefanie invited me over to her house this weekend for dinner. Isn't that cool?"_

 _Dean laughed as he sat up. "Baby Sammy's already gettin' asked out by the ladies, huh? That's my boy!"_

 _Sam flushed as he knocked Dean's hand away from his hair. "Don't be a jerk, Dean!"_

" _Yeah, whatever you say, bitch!"_

 _Sam smiled brightly, unknowingly helping to lift Dean's mood a little. "So can I go?"_

" _I don't see why not," Dean replied, rolling over to dig into the bedside table for the latest car magazine he had filched from the motel lobby._

" _Sweet! Thanks Dean! I'm gonna go call her! Her parents said that they would make a huge Thanksgiving dinner, so maybe I can ask if I can bring some leftovers home! I know that you like turkey—"_

" _Wait, Thanksgiving?"_

" _Yeah, it's Thanksgiving this weekend. Remember, you said we could go to the park if we finished Dad's training early because we've got the extra days off?"_

 _Dean kept the smile on his face as he nodded, but internally he felt his stomach sink down to his toes. "Yeah, bud. We can still do that if you want, maybe after you get home from Stefanie's." Dean made sure to add a teasing tone to the girl's name, adding in some obnoxious kissing noises for good measure._

 _Rationally, he knew that it was only natural that Sam would want to spend his holiday having an actual holiday, not the bucket of fried chicken and crap movies on TV that they usually had on Thanksgiving. Plus, Sam had never even had a proper Thanksgiving thanks to the evil SOB who took Mom._

 _But it still stung to watch Sam get so excited about spending a family holiday without his family. Still, Dean shrugged it off, knowing that at the end of the day Sam would come home, probably with a pile of leftovers because Sam had turned the puppy dog eyes on Mrs. Stefanie's-Mom and quietly asked for food to take to his dear, sweet big brother. They would go to the park, get home, and still watch crap TV because Dean's number one role in life was Big Brother, and he was pretty damn awesome at it, if you don't mind him saying so._

"Dean…Dean…" The singsong voice trilled annoyingly in his ear. "Your brother doesn't need you, does he? Even at the age of twelve, he was desperate to get away from you. That had to sting, huh? So why don't we see if we can move that sting to someone else, hmm? It'll all go away if you just say—"

Dean snorted. "Try again, fugly. It ain't ever gonna happen!"

"We shall see," Alistair slammed the door closed and it all started over. The electrocution, the hooks, the knives. But Dean held on, because, somewhere inside of him, he knew that Sammy still needed him.

* * *

 **Year 23**

Flagstaff, Arizona

 _Dean had been driving for days on end. He'd called in favors from every hunter he knew, knowing that Dad would be no help._

" _Your mess, you clean it up, boy," were the exact words that left his father's mouth. And it wasn't even his mess! Not technically, that is. Sam and Dad had had an epic meltdown two weeks previous, and Sam had been cold and reserved around his brother ever since, despite Dean's best efforts to bring back his Sammy. Then one day, Sam had offered to go and get dinner, stating that he needed to stretch his legs. He mumbled something incoherent as he left. He never came back._

 _Dean had panicked and called in the entire cavalry. Pastor Jim put out all his feelers, same as Bobby and Martin and Caleb and every other hunter Dad had in his journal. One of Martin's contacts had placed him in Louisiana two weeks ago. Right after that, Pastor Jim got a call placing him in western Texas. Caleb almost nabbed him in New Mexico a day and a half after that, but Dad had called him off, claiming that Sam was Dean's responsibility. Finally, Bobby had told his Dad where he could stick that philosophy, and told Dean that he had a lead on Sam in Flagstaff, Arizona._

 _Almost two weeks of no answers, and finally Dean was pulling up to some ramshackle campsite. Cabin 2 was what Bobby had said, so he pulled up down the lot and parked the Impala so that Sam wouldn't hear the familiar rumble of the engine and try rabbiting again. He quickly and quietly paced over to the front door of the cabin and knocked, placing his hand over the peephole._

" _Mrs. Higgins? Is that you? Give me one sec, and I'll help you with your groceries…"_

 _Dean heard the door creak open and made a move to barge into the room, but was thrown off balance by some…thing bolting past him and escaping into the wide field surrounding the cabin. Sam emerged to follow whatever the hell the thing was, and Dean couldn't help himself. He decked his little brother, using Sam's lack of balance at that moment to shove him back into the cabin._

" _What the hell? Dean?"_

" _Surprise, Sammy!" Dean shoved him so that his back was against the wall, no chance of pulling another miraculous disappearance act. "Miss me?"_

" _Dean! I—I can explain! I swear, it wasn't about you, it was—"_

" _Do you know how stupid, selfish, and arrogant you sound right now? Do you even know—" Dean cut himself off as he stared at his baby brother's face. The kid looked terrified and sad, but also happy. It was that freaking puppy dog face that caused him to crumble every damn time._

" _Dean?" Sam's quiet voice cut through. "Dean, are you okay?"_

"No, Sammy, I'm not _," is what he wanted to say. He wanted to rage and cry and stomp his feet like he hadn't since he was a four-year-old who had his entire world burned to a crisp. He wanted to tell Sam about how angry Dad had been, not at Sam, but at Dean for letting Sam go. He wanted Sam to know just how bad Dad had been when he found out that Sam was gone, and just how much he'd let his eldest son feel his anger. He wanted to yell and holler about how he hadn't slept for two weeks because he'd been terrified of the thought that he would never see his baby brother ever again._

 _But he could never hurt Sammy that way. Whether he was 16 or 60, Dean would never stop seeing Sam as his kid brother, as the baby that had been shoved into his arms that he had never really put down._

" _Yeah, kid. Just tired of tracking your ass all over the damn country. Now get your stuff, time to go," he said instead. Sam nodded, not a trace of resistance on his face._

" _Okay. Just give me a sec to grab my stuff and help Mrs. Higgins with her groceries. She can't do it herself," Sam disappeared out the front door before Dean could even protest._

 _Dean watched him go, feeling the fear and desperation and sadness and incompleteness from the past two weeks crawling their way up his throat. He choked them back with a sob, grateful that Sam had left the door almost completely closed. He felt tears of exhaustion and relief and sorrow escape and tread down his face as his emotions overcame him._

 _With practiced ease, he forced his shoulders to stop shaking and the tears to stop. He shoved everything down into that dark place inside of him that he hated even thinking about, and locked it up tight._

 _Wiping his face, he walked over to the door and pulled it open to stare out at Sam helping an elderly woman with her bags. A dog sat on her front porch watching them. Sam patted the fleabag on its head, and asked the woman a question that Dean couldn't quite make out._

" _Of course, sweetheart. Did your brother come and pick you up like you said he would?" she responded loudly._

"Ha! See, you jerkoffs! He knew I was comin' for him! He didn't want to get away from me! How the hell is that supposed to break me!?" Dean shouted out into the black abyss of the Pit, ignoring the shake of his hands and the pit in his stomach that clenched every time he thought of friggin' Flagstaff, Arizona.

God, he hated Flagstaff.

* * *

 **Year 29**

" _SAM! SAM, NO PLEASE! PLEASE SAM! SAM!" Dean screamed as he watched himself watch his brother walk away, into the airport without looking back. Why wouldn't Sam turn around? Why wouldn't he just stay? Dean had given up everything he'd ever had for that kid, and now he was just leaving him? Why wouldn't Sam ask him to go with him? Why couldn't Dad just keep his friggin' mouth shut for once in his damned life? Why did the two of them take it upon themselves to atom bomb his entire life in one night? Why…Why…_

"Dean?" That slippery, slithery smooth voice echoed in his mind. "All it takes is one teensy, weensy word, and I can make this all go away. No more pain, no more suffering. You've gone through so much suffering, Dean. The world has hurt you so much. All you have to do is say it, and you won't have to hurt anymore."

"OKAY!" Dean sobbed, as he watched plane after plane taxi down the runway, one of them carrying his whole world inside of it. "OKAY, I'LL DO IT!"

* * *

 **Present Day**

Dean hesitated briefly as the amulet dangled over the trashcan. He could feel Sam's gaze burning into his back, and he closed his eyes tightly. The world had hurt him, but that kid ( _the kid he had sacrificed for, the kid he had killed for, the kid he had_ _ **died**_ _for_ ) had hurt him even more. His Heaven had been his family; the one memory of his mom that didn't involve her burning up on the ceiling or disappearing in flames as she takes on a poltergeist; one of his happiest memories from his childhood, when he was able to give Sam that normalcy that he had been craving, when he had been able to see that, yeah, he could fit into Sam's world of normal too.

Sam's Heaven, his perfect slice of paradise, was every time he had left Dean. He would have given Sam that picture perfect Thanksgiving, if only he had had the means and the opportunity. He would have run away with Sam to Flagstaff, if only Sam had turned those hound's eyes on him and asked. He would have settled down in Palo Alto, only taken on local hunts, gotten a steady job, been _respectable_ , if Sam had only said those magic words.

Dean waited, the leather cord of his most prized possession hanging precariously on his index finger. He waited, for Sam to say those words.

 _I never meant to hurt you, Dean._

 _It wasn't true, Dean._

 _I'm sorry, Dean._

 _Dean, stop._

 _Jerk._

 _De'._

The words never came.

The amulet landed in the trash can with a resounding _thunk_.

The world had hurt Dean.

Sam had hurt him more.

Dean wasn't going to let himself hurt anymore.

It was time to move the sting to those sons of bitches who caused all this crap in the first place.

* * *

 **A/N:** Again, I am so sorry I forgot about updating last night! I can't believe I was so dumb! I mean, last week, I updated on the road while I was coming back from the Queen + Adam Lambert concert because I didn't want to leave you in the lurch, and this week I forget! Ugh. Please don't hold it against me, and please review. This is one of my favourite chapters, and I hope you all like it too! I promise I will see you all next **_TUESDAY_**.


	99. Servant of Heaven

**A/N:** Hi everyone! I hope you all had a very good week. My brain is slowly starting to reform after my creative writing course melted it, and I'm probably going to start writing the season 6 chapters for this series next week, so that's exciting. Thanks to Sallyannerenee, Blackwolfsasuke, shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod, piece2gether, lenail125, hectatess, Tomb Raider and Walking Dead, Colby's girl, and SammysGirl42 for the reviews. I know last week's update was a little late, but I hope you all enjoyed it.

To Blackwolfsasuke: I loved Adam Lambert when he was on American Idol, and I actually really like him as the new frontman for Queen. He's no Freddie, but he's not trying to be. That was the second time I'd seen him with the boys, and both times I saw them was in Toronto.

This chapter is tagged to 5x17, _99 Problems_. Probably one of my favourite episode titles ever. I hope you all enjoy this chapter, and please review so I know what you think.

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

 **Servant of Heaven**

 _ **Journal Entry #6:**_

 _ **The Whore of Babylon—**_ _a result of the Catholic Apocalypse. Kills a human, possesses their body and uses it to spread sin throughout the human race. Spreads rumors of an Enochian exorcism that translates to "You breed with the mouth of a goat." (_ _ **Funnier in Enochian?**_ _) Can only be killed by being stabbed with a stake made from the Cyprus tree in Babylon, wielded by a servant of Heaven._

Sam sat staring at the open journal in front of him, fingers drumming on the linoleum of the table. It had been six hours. Six hours since Dean had ditched him to go and play puppet for Michael. Cas was out looking for him, despite not being able to sense his location, and Bobby was calling him on every number he knew. Sam had chosen to write. He knew where Dean would be. He also knew that nothing they said or did would bring him back before he said the big Yes. His big brother, for all his strengths and faults, was stubborn. People always thought Sam was the stubborn one, but he had only learned it from the best. When Dean had his head and his heart working towards the same common goal, asking him to stop was like asking a mountain to move.

Sam picked up his pen and began another entry.

 _ **Journal Entry #7:**_

 _ **A Servant of Heaven—**_ _thought to be someone who embodies all of the goodness of Heaven on earth (i.e.: a priest or a rabbi or a different holy figure)._

Sam hesitated, wondering if he should even include the next bit.

 _Dean killed the Whore. If whoever's reading this knew my brother, they'd know that his is not the first name you'd say when asked who a servant of Heaven is. He drinks too much to cope with the pain that has wrecked our lives. He sleeps around. He curses, he's killed, and he's been to Hell. Yet, he was the one who killed the Whore. Not the disgraced angel standing next to him, not the priest he saved. The high school drop out who hasn't believed in God since November 2_ _nd_ _, 1983 ended up being one of Heaven's servants._

 _Pastor Jim Murphy used to tell me that you could serve God in a million different ways. It wasn't always about leading a wholesome and pure life. Sometimes, it was about being willing to dig your hands in the dirt so that the guy next to you doesn't have to._

 _That definition fits Dean to a 'T'. He was always trying to protect me growing up. He fed me, made sure I did my homework, and made sure I went to bed on time, even though I knew he never had enough to eat, never did his homework, and stayed up late to keep watch. He sacrificed his childhood so that I could have mine. He gave up his life to hunt, so that nobody else had to feel the same loss that we did. To my knowledge, he's never once complained. While I was constantly looking for a way out of the life that would inevitably kill me, Dean always dove further in. His calling has always been saving people, including me._

 _I guess Dean was always a servant of Heaven, just not in the way that Cas or I expected._

Sam closed the slim black journal and tucked it away into his bag as Cas reappeared in the motel room.

"I'm sorry, Sam. I could not find him."

"It's fine, Cas. I didn't think you would," Sam shrugged as he kicked himself away from the table and stood, gathering his bag in his hands. "I'm gonna go get him."

"Sam, time is of the essence. Tell me where he will be, and I can go retrieve him," Castiel urged.

Sam was already shaking his head. "Sorry, Cas, but it's got to be me. I'm his brother; he'll listen to me."

"You're also the one he's attempting to protect by going through with this foolhardy plan. Therefore, you are the one he is least likely to listen to."

Sam threw his duffle onto the table and whirled around to face the disgraced angel, who was standing way too close for comfort. "Cas, this isn't up for discussion! This…this is my mess. And, yeah, I am the one Dean is trying to protect. But that's why I _have_ to do this. Dean's not getting hurt again because of me."

Cas considered him for a moment, that x-ray look on his face. "You're a good man, Sam Winchester. It is unfortunate that my brothers and sisters consider you an abomination. What has happened to you over the course of your life has been no fault of your own. The struggles you have faced would give you all the reason in the world to turn your back on humanity, and yet you don't. It is interesting how the vessel of Michael is ready to give up, but Lucifer's vessel continues to fight…"

"Don't—" Sam's words caught in his throat. "Don't call him that."

"I apologize."

"No—it's…it's not…" Sam sighed and sunk into the chair behind him. "Cas, he's fought for so long. Way longer than I have, considering, well, everything. He's fought for his entire life, and put up with all the crap that our Dad used to put on his shoulders. Now you and me and Bobby and the entire freaking world are depending on him…we've been pushing him and pushing him…It's not fair! I made this mess; I need to be the one cleaning it up!" Sam sighed and buried his head in his hands before pushing up from the table and gathering his things. "I don't know how to put the Devil back in his cage, but I can stop Dean from making the sacrifice play on this one. It's not a plan, but it's a start."

Castiel moved to stand next to him. "Alright," he grumbled. "But at least let me take you to him. It will save us time and, in case you cannot talk him out of this, I will be there to ensure he complies."

Sam sighed and nodded his head. "Alright. Last I heard Lisa had moved to Carmel, Indiana. We'll start there and hope he hasn't gotten too far a head start."

* * *

 **A/N:** There's another one in the bag. So close to the end, you guys! Don't worry, I've got plans to go as long as Supernatural goes, so hopefully my muse sticks with me for that long. Please review so I know what you thought, and I'll see you all next Tuesday!


	100. Hundreds of Memories

**A/N:** Wow. 100 chapters. Over a thousand reviews, almost 150,000 words. This is amazing, you guys. When I first envisioned this project, I never expected the outpouring of love and kindness that it would be met with. As always, the SPNFam delivered in spades. I love you all, and I can't wait to see where the next 100 chapters take us!

Thanks to hectatess, Tempermental18, DAForever62442, shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod, waitingforAslan, DearHart, SammysGirl42, bagelcat1, Dragonsrule18, Colby's girl, Tomb Raider and Walking Dead, and zekeschance (x4) for the reviews, and thanks to all who have ever read or reviewed.

So, of course, this chapter is tagged to 5x18, _The Point of No Return_. I hope you all enjoy, and I hope that you guys will bless me with some more kindness through your reviews.

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

 **Hundreds of Memories**

Looking back, Dean knew his whole life started on that balmy May morning when he had looked down at the crinkled infant sleeping in a bassinet and come to the surprisingly deep realization that he'd been searching for his baby brother for the past four years.

" _This is your little brother, Samuel. I know he's tiny now, but you're going to help your Mom and me take care of him until he's big and strong. We've got to protect him, okay pal?"_

John's words fell on deaf ears, because of course Dean already knew all that. Somehow, in a way that his four-year-old mind could not comprehend, he knew that Sam was more important than everything. He was more important than his toys and his friends and the fact that he had to move to a new room in the house. Sam became a focal point in his life, and the deciding factor in so many of his choices. He would do anything to keep Sam smiling and happy, even if it meant leaving Mom to burn inside their home.

* * *

Dean could remember his first day of kindergarten. They were staying with Bobby after wandering from place to place in the wake of Mary's death. Bobby had taken the pains to get Dean enrolled in school, and had been the one to drop him off in the morning when John was sleeping off a bender. Too uncomfortable with the whole situation to provide any fatherly advice for the occasion, Bobby settled for gently squeezing Dean's shoulder and steering him towards the classroom door before Sam woke up and started crying for his brother.

When it came time for Sam's first day of school, Dean was determined not to let his father's absence ruin the experience for Sam. John had had the sense of mind to enroll both of his boys in the local elementary school when he was busy dealing with a coven, but he had crash landed at the motel at 4 in the morning the day school was supposed to start, so it was up to Dean to drop his little brother off.

When the bespectacled man had greeted them at the door and introduced himself as Mr. Warner, Sam's kindergarten teacher, Sam had replied with an enthusiastic, " _I'm Sammy, and 'dis my big bwudder De'! He's the bestest!_ ", gave him a big hug around the waist and waved goodbye as the door closed behind him.

Throughout the entire day, despite the teasing over his ratty clothes and his threadbare backpack, Dean felt a warm glow the center of his chest, just from knowing that Sam thought he was the best, and that his little brother was okay.

* * *

" _Dean? Thanks. For everything._ "

" _Doesn't matter. You were the one who got me out. Not Dad, you._ "

" _I'm not gonna let you die, period_."

" _I'd do_ _ **anything**_ _for you._ "

The memories of those moments when Sam had looked at him like he was some sort of superhero whirled through his brain at lightspeed in the seconds after he said yes to Zachariah.

He could feel Sam's gaze burning a hole right through him and, when he turned to look at Sam's face, he could see the sting of betrayal and hurt and loss and confusion in his eyes.

Dean knew Sam didn't understand where he was coming from with all of this, but, in all fairness, he _had_ warned him. If saying 'yes' meant that Michael could get to Lucifer before Lucifer got to Sam, he would scream it from the highest rooftop. Yes, people would die, but he was going to allow himself to be selfish just once. People would die, but not _his_ people. Sam would live because Lucifer wouldn't be able to get close to him. Bobby would live, and Dean would make Michael promise to give Bobby back his legs too. Adam…well, Adam could do whatever the Hell he wanted. Go back to Heaven, go back to school, go be with his Mom in her Heaven…All he had to do was ask, and Dean would make sure Michael said yes. Lisa, Ben, Cassie…they'd all live. Dean could save them, all by saying that simple, three letter word, and, honestly, he didn't think he would regret it. He was tired. He was run down, beat down, and fall-on-your-face exhausted. It might actually be nice to let someone else take the reins for a little bit. With Michael's promise that he would come out of the possession better than new, and his added precautions to protect the people he gave a damn about, Dean was hard pressed to see a downside to saying yes to the lesser of two evils.

Still, Sam was giving him those damn puppy dog eyes from the corner, and the blood pooling out of his mouth was no help.

" _You're still my big brother…_ "

Those words rang louder than the cacophony going on around him, and Dean took a moment to actually _look_ at his brother. At some point, some how, Sam had grown up on him. No longer was he the baby placed in his arms on a brisk fall night, nor was he the chubby kindergartener who had looked at him like he hung the sun and stars. Somehow, Sam had grown up to be a strong, stoic, overwhelmingly _good_ man, despite having only him, John, and Bobby to look up to. And yet, despite having grown up to be that good man, Sam still looked up to him. Sam still said, " _You're still my big brother_ " like it meant the world to him, and he was looking up at him like he had just blown that world to hell.

Inwardly, Dean chuckled. That stupid, naïve, kind, smart, good-hearted _man_ he was privileged enough to call his brother had brought him here, despite Dean having said that he didn't believe in him anymore, despite Dean having told him, straight out, that he would say yes to Michael, and Sam had still brought him along. All because he had faith in him, in _them_.

Dean felt a small smirk pull at his lips as he winked at Sam. If Sam, who was way smarter than he would ever be, could find it within himself to have faith in Dean, then Dean could repay the favor.

* * *

 **A/N:** And that's all I have to say about that. I hope you all enjoyed. Please review. I shall see you all next Tuesday for the next installment. Much love!


	101. Gabriel

**A/N:** Hi everyone, and welcome to chapter 101! Thanks to hectatess, bagelcat1, Tempermental18, Colby's girl, waitingforAslan, shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod, and Tomb Raider and Walking Dead for the awesome reviews.

This chapter is tagged to episode 5x19, _Hammer of the Gods_. Hope you all enjoy!

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

 **Gabriel**

Gabriel was the third born in his family, and if that made him Adam then so be it. It actually made sense, considering how both he and the poor bastard orphan got screwed over by the two dicks they had the misfortune of calling big brothers. But it hadn't always been like that.

Gabriel could remember a time when he could look at Michael and Lucifer and feel an overwhelming sense of love and appreciation and pure luck spread from wing-tip to wing-tip. His two older brothers definitely preferred each other's company to any of the other angels in the family, but Gabriel was the rare exception. Raphael was too serious; Uriel was a pain in the ass ( _Michael's words, not his_ ); nobody really gave a damn about Raguel and Barachiel. Castiel was awkward, Anna was a bit of a psycho, Hester was just a bitch. Gabriel was the one they chose to spend time with; he was the one they chose to teach and mentor.

Lucifer taught him how to play tricks on the others. His crafty older brother taught him how to cast a realistic reflection of himself to make the other angels think he was in two places at once. Together, they pissed off Dad, and Michael, and drove Raphael up the wall. And when they were finished for the day, they would sit together and laugh and laugh.

Michael taught him his sense of justice. Nobody was pure good or pure darkness. There was both good and bad inside of everyone, even angels. But, in some, the bad outweighed the good. That was when they would step in. No matter that their Father's creations were, frankly, abominable, this was their purpose. They were meant to serve these petty creatures called humans. That was what their Father wanted, so that was what Michael would do.

That was also where he and Lucifer differed, and that disagreement tore their family apart. Dad disappeared even quicker than Gabriel did, leaving that douche Metatron with the prophecy of the Winchester brothers. Michael essentially barricaded himself away from his brothers and sisters, leaving Raphael and Uriel to try to wrangle the quickly dilapidating Heaven. Anna and Hester were put into the same battalion, and Gabriel quickly got the Hell out of Dodge.

Nobody came searching for him. Maybe, in the back of his mind, he'd hoped that somebody would. Maybe Michael would pull his head out of his ass and come down and drag him home. Maybe Raphael would come and ask for his help. Maybe Samandriel would come, because he'd always had a soft spot for the kid. Or perhaps it would be Castiel. But nobody came. Because nobody cared. Heaven descended into anarchy with good ol'Dad's disappearance, and nobody cared that one of the archangels had run off to hide.

He spent centuries hiding in plain sight, using his grace to shield him from his siblings, and using the lessons that both Michael and Lucifer had taught him to dispense his own unique brand of justice. Occasionally, he'd do something stupid and put himself in the limelight in the hopes that somebody upstairs would pop down to see him. Hell, he'd even gone through the process of killing Michael's precious vessel over and over and over again for almost 6 months, and the Big Guy still didn't make an appearance. After so many millennia of being ignored and forgotten, he'd reached the point where he just wanted to give up.

But humanity hadn't let him. Something about those creatures, those flawed and achingly mortal creatures, had given him hope. They screwed up more than they succeeded, they fought, and they did nasty things to each other. They destroyed the environment, and they came to a point where many of them thought that they were better than God. But damnit, they _tried_!

When they failed, they got back up and tried again. When they fought, they forgave. When they committed awful crimes against members of their community, the rest of the community stood up and punished them for it. When a group of humans was affected by a natural disaster, the rest of the world banded together to help them. They were as good as they were bad, just like Michael said. There was beauty in their failures, and sadness in their happiness. They were mortal; they didn't last forever, and that was beautiful.

And maybe Gabriel hated the Winchesters, took pleasure in torturing Sam by killing Dean a hundred times over, and wanted them to just bow down, kiss his brothers' boots, and get the whole Apocalypse thing over with, but damnit if that wasn't because they reminded him of those good ol'days. Days when Michael and Lucifer couldn't even think of hurting each other without feeling guilty. Plus, Dean had that nasty habit of being just as righteous as Michael.

" _We don't screw with people the way you do. And for the record? This isn't about some prize fight between your brothers or some destiny that can't be stopped. This is about you being too afraid to stand up to your family!"_

It wasn't until he was faced with the opportunity to see Lucifer again that Dean's words finally sank in. By hiding away, he was screwing with people. He was screwing with the whole damn planet. The people who had unknowingly saved him would be killed if he sat back on his ass and let his big brothers finish their centuries old tantrum. He was supposed to be an archangel, the fiercest warrior in Heaven. Not only that, he was the one closest to both Michael and Lucifer. If he loved his brothers and the planet as much as he claimed, he'd be the only one who could potentially stop the Apocalypse from happening.

In any case, he had to try. He loved his brothers, he loved his father, and he loved humanity, plus Earth was the only planet that had sugar.

So, in the end, he chose them. He chose people. God may have given up on them, but Gabriel never would.

* * *

 **A/N:** So, I hope you all enjoyed the chapter! Please review to tell me what you thought, and I shall see you all on Tuesday!


	102. An Angel on Your Shoulder

**A/N:** Guys, I am so bad! I totally forgot it was Tuesday again! I shouldn't have, because I kept telling myself it was Tuesday, but I did. I am so sorry! Anyway, thanks to Sallyannerenee (x3), Tomb Raider and Walking Dead, DAForever62442, bagelcat1, hectatess, piece2gether, waitingforAslan, Kiki1770, and shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod for making it worthwhile to wake myself up and post. As many times as I let you guys down, you never let me down.

So, this chapter is tagged to 5x19, _The Devil You Know_. Hope you all enjoy! Please leave a review at the end so I know what you all thought!

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

 **An Angel on Your Shoulder**

Sam's eyes shot open as he felt Dean take an easy left and then drift to a slow stop. He had been feigning sleep for the past couple of hours, not wanting to talk to Dean about locking him in the bathroom, or Brady, or Jess, or Crowley, or any of it, really. He'd assumed that, with Demon Brady's intel about where Pestilence would be, they would be hightailing it to Bobby's to put together a game plan, but instead he found them pulling into the parking lot of a not-horrible-looking motel.

Turning to Dean to argue, he found his older brother half-slumped over the steering wheel, rubbing a fist over his eyes while his other hand grasped at his ribs.

"Dean…" Sam started, hand hovering in the space between them. He was torn. On one hand, they should keep moving, but on the other, Dean wasn't looking too good. His brother was obviously exhausted and hurting, and Sam hadn't noticed. "Dean…"

Dean waved his arm in Sam's general direction. "Lay off, Sam. I'm fine. Bruised and tired, but fine. Nothin' a good night's sleep won't cure."

"Then let me drive, Dean. Climb in the back and get some sleep, and I'll get us to Bobby's," Sam pleaded, not wanting to stop when they were so close.

Dean shot him a look. "Sam, you've slept even _less_ than I have the past couple of weeks. We need to grab a few z's and recharge. Nobody's gonna be able to ice the Devil by living off of Red Bull and coffee."

"But—"

"No. Crowley already smoked over to Bobby's, so he knows we're coming. We're only a couple of hours out from Sioux Falls, so we can get a fresh start in the morning. 'Sides, not like Lucifer can start the Apocalypse tomorrow, so long as you and I keep saying no," Dean shrugged as he gingerly got out of the car and headed into the main office, giving Sam no choice but to stay in the car.

Less than five minutes passed before Dean was back in the car and driving them around the lot to their front door du jour. Less than 10 minutes after that, their stuff was in the room, angel warding was in place, and salt lines were laid at the doors and windows. Dean sent a quick text to Bobby so that he knew to expect them in the morning, and settled into his bed, arm wrapped tightly around his midsection.

Sam attempted to stay up longer. He pulled out his laptop to research the recent swine flu outbreaks, and tried to find a connection between them other than location. Unfortunately, he found his eyelids drooping before the laptop even booted up, so he slammed the screen down and flopped into his bed, asleep before his head even hit the pillow.

* * *

" _Why, Sam? Why, Sam? Why, Sam? Why, Sam?"_

"JESS!" Sam bolted straight up, heart racing and tears streaking down his face.

He hadn't had that dream in years, but it never got any easier. Jess, pinned to the ceiling, stomach dripping blood, staring at him with dead eyes.

" _Why, Sam?"_

Sam clenched his eyes shut and choked back a sob.

When he felt he had control of himself, he opened his eyes to find Dean staring at him with concern from his bed closest to the window.

"Nightmare?" his brother asked sympathetically, soundlessly getting up from his bed, padding the three feet over to his and sitting down on the corner.

"'M fine," Sam mumbled, picking at a loose thread in the blanket. Dean nodded thoughtfully, and Sam knew that his older brother was calling his bluff. "Seriously, Dean. I'm fine."

Dean smirked as he breathed out a laugh before his face turned somber. "It's not your fault, you know."

"Dean—"

"Yeah, I heard what that dick told you. 'Bout how they thought you were turning soft, so they introduced you to Jessica so that you'd have something to lose. I may have been in the bathroom," Dean shot him a pointed look. "But voices carry, 'specially in a crap-hole like that house." Sam looked down, abashed. It seemed like all they had done lately was lock each other up. So much for trust and a fresh start. "Point is, Sam, none of that is on you."

"Dean, if I hadn't tried to escape this life, then none of this would have happened!" Sam implored, pulling his legs up to rest his arms on his knees. "Jess never would have met me, and the demons never would have gone after her, and she'd still be alive!" Sam bowed his head. "Dad was right…leaving was the stupidest thing I coulda done. I had a demon basically living in my back pocket for 2 years, and I never even noticed! Maybe if I had…"

"Sam, you can't live your life like that, believe me," Dean interrupted gently. "You'll go nuts thinking of all the ways you could've changed things, but look at all the times we've tried to change the past. I watched Mom make the deal that started all of this, and I couldn't stop it no matter how hard I tried. We tried to change things so that we were never born, but that whole Ferris Wheel of crap was already in motion when we got there. Sometimes there's no changing things. Now, I'm not saying that Jessica's destiny or whatever was to die, because I still say that we screw destiny, right in the face. But no matter what we do, we can't change the fact that it happened. All we can do is avenge her death, which we did. We got both of the sons of bitches that killed her. Sam," Dean put his hand on Sam's knee and squeezed until his brother looked up at him. "I think she would be proud of you. No matter what's happened, you've always tried to do the right thing, that much hasn't changed. Alright?" Sam grinned and nodded, amazed that Dean once again knew how to put his overcharged mind at ease. "Alright…Now quit bein' all emo and go to sleep." Dean swatted at his legs and stood up to trudge back to his own bed.

"Night, Dean…" Sam called out, shuffling down so his head was back on his pillow.

"Yeah, whatever…" Dean mumbled as he fell back into bed.

Sam smiled as he rolled over and closed his eyes.

His life may have been wrought with demons from the get-go, but his mother had been right too. He'd always had an angel watching over him, and not just the douchebags in Heaven. Dean would vehemently protest at being called an angel, but he'd been Sam's guardian for so long that the moniker fit. And Sam knew that he had an angel watching over him from Heaven as well, and her name was Jessica.

* * *

 **A/N:** Okay, so I set an alarm in my phone to go off every Tuesday at quarter to 11, so I remember to update! Hopefully when the fall TV schedule starts, it'll be easier for me too ( _The Flash, Legends of Tomorrow,_ and _This Is Us_ will definitely keep me remembering). So, I hope you all liked this one. Please leave a review so I know how you feel about certain directions I've taken. Love you all, and I shall see you all back here on Tuesday! (Tuesday, Tuesday, Tuesday, Tuesday!)


	103. Backed into a Corner

**A/N:** Wow guys. This is the penultimate chapter for season five. What a journey it's been. I'll save the long message for next week, but I do want to thank all of you for all of your support. Special thanks to SammysGirl42, Sallyannerenee, Tomb Raider and Walking Dead, Colby's girl, words (x3), Dragonsrule18, bagelcat1, lenail125, hectatess, DearHart, and shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod. You guys are all beautiful.

First, a special prayer for Texas and everyone affected by Hurricane Harvey. I'm so proud to be a part of the SPNFamily, who has jumped at the chance to donate and help out.

Next, this chapter is tagged to 5x21, _Two Minutes to Midnight_. I hope you all enjoy the chapter. Please let me know what you think!

* * *

 **Backed into a Corner**

"So, I gotta ask, Dean. What exactly are you afraid of? Losing? Or losing your brother?"

Dean could only stare back at Bobby as the tension between them ramped up, just as the pain in his chest and the lump in his throat swelled to near unmanageable degrees. Finally, he settled heavily down onto the bumper of the Impala and ran his hand over his neck and head, looking up at Bobby with green eyes that suddenly seemed so much younger than their 31 years.

"You've, uh, you've known me for a long time, right Bobby?" Dean asked quietly.

Bobby gulped. "Yeah, I'd, uh, I'd say I have. Since you were knee high to a grasshopper."

"Taught me how to play catch…made sure I went to school…patched me up after some bad hunts…"

"Yeah, Dean. We've been through a lot together," Bobby replied gently, not 100 percent sure where the elder Winchester's brain was at.

"You know," Dean shifted his gaze off into the distance. "I'd bet that you know me better than probably anyone, 'cept Sam."

Bobby nodded slowly. "I'd say those odds are pretty good."

"So then how can you ask me that?" Dean asked calmly, turning a gaze filled with betrayal towards his uncle. "How can you ask me a question that you already know the answer to?"

"Dean, I—"

"No, I really want to know. How the Hell is this any different than me wanting to go and say yes to Michael? You were all against that, but you're all for Sam saying yes to _Lucifer_? What the hell?"

"Dean, that was different," Bobby tried to interject.

"How? Because it was better? I'd be saying yes to an _archangel_ , who _**promised**_ that I would be **fine** when he was through with me, instead of sending Sam to the DEVIL who is going to wear him like a cheap suit!" Dean chugged half his beer back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "You, Cas, and Sam treated me like I was some sort of traitor for wanting to say yes to Michael, but you're all fine with sending Sam to Hell, and you want me to climb on board too." Dean scoffed. "It's like you don't know me at all."

"Dean, it's not about choosing the right angel to say yes to. It's about loss of life," Bobby tried to explain. "If you said yes to Michael, he and Lucifer would tear this joint apart trying to one up each other. But if Sam says yes to Lucifer, he can stop that battle from ever happening. He can save the _world_ , Dean."

"And that's supposed to make it okay?" Dean shouted, standing up and hurling his beer bottle against an old truck, reveling in the shatter. "What has the world ever done for him? What has anybody out there ever done for either of us?"

"Dean…" Bobby's heart broke for the kid he had always viewed as his own, but he didn't know how to make the situation better. "He thinks it's his mess, and he wants to clean it up. You can't keep doing that for him."

"I _know_ that, Bobby. I know. But this…this is too big. We're talkin' about Lucifer, _in_ his Cage, for who knows how long! I—" Dean turned to Bobby with tears in his eyes. "I just can't get behind that, and—" Dean blinked, and Bobby saw the fire lit behind the veil of tears. "And anybody who _can_ get behind that ain't okay with me."

Bobby bowed his head. He knew that Sam meant the world to Dean. Dean had proven it again, and again. He'd sold his soul. He'd removed himself from Sam's life so he could go to school. And Bobby couldn't count the amount of times the Winchester clan had returned to Singer's Salvage after a hunt with Dean hurt and Sam feeling guilty because Dean got hurt protecting him.

No matter how much he wanted to blame John, Bobby couldn't find it within himself to do so. Yes, John had placed the burden of raising Sam on Dean's too-young shoulders, but it was a burden that Dean also took on himself. Bobby could remember when John was just drunk enough to talk about the time immediately after Mary's death. John would wake up and find Dean curled up in Sam's crib, arms curled around Sam like he could protect him from what's out there. Dean had been protecting Sam before he even knew there was something to protect him from. It was such a large burden for a 4-year-old to carry, but it was a burden that Dean thrived under. Like Hercules completing his 12 Trials, taking care of Sam had turned Dean into the man he was today. And that man was a hero.

"Dean…you can't protect him forever. If he wants to do this…well, you know your brother. He'll do it with or without you, but doing it without you will only hurt him."

Dean shuddered as he sighed and Bobby's heart sunk at the painfilled look on his face.

"Well, looks like you bastards have me backed into a corner…I guess I don't really have a choice." Bobby watched as Dean's face visibly hardened and his walls went up to protect himself from the pain that this decision would cause. "But it doesn't change that I'm not okay with this…and the fact that you are…" Dean wiped a hand over his face, removing all traces of tears. "Just…if this works…y-you might not hear from me for a while…"

"Dean—"

The young man was already shaking his head. "I just…I don't want to blame you for this. You know me, man. If he's g-gone…you gotta let me go too."

Bobby nodded slowly, not liking it but seeing where Dean was coming from. The kid would spiral without Sam there to keep him steady, and Dean didn't want to bring anybody else down with him.

"What will you do?"

Dean shrugged. "Find a way to get him back…I don't know." Dean chuckled humorlessly. "I'll, uh…I'll keep in touch though. I just…"

Bobby nodded. This was Dean's version of threatening to shoot him full of buckshot. He and John had known that, after that particular argument, they would never be as close as they once were, but that they'd always come to each other's aid when needed. "I know. I'll make sure to call if something big comes up."

"Yeah…Yeah, you do that."

Dean briefly caught Bobby's eyes before walking away, probably to go and find Sam to let him know he was on board. Bobby watched him go with a sinking feeling in his chest, unable to shake the thought that he had just sentenced both his boys to death.

* * *

 **A/N:** Well, there's another one in the bank. One more left in season 5. I hope you all leave me a review, and I shall see you all next week. Much love!


	104. The Chosen Ones

**A/N:** Hi guys, welcome back! Thanks NightReader22 (x6), Bjester74 (x4), SammysGirl42, waitingforAslan, Colby's girl, Tomb Raider and Walking Dead, Dragonsrule18, bagelcat1, hectatess, , and shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod. Special thanks to LadyCumberBunny for the amazing PM.

This chapter is tagged to 5x22, _Swan Song._

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

 **The Chosen Ones**

Sometimes, Michael wished Lucifer was more like Sam.

Father had written that Lucifer's perfect vessel would be a mirror image of him in every way. Rebellious, defiant, cunning, and dark. Michael, in his naiveté, had not believed Him. How could his beloved younger brother be something so…evil? Lucifer, the Morning Star, the best of them all, save for the Prince of Heaven, Michael himself. Together, they had scoffed at their heavenly monikers. Together, they had raised and nurtured their siblings. They had fought Heaven's deadliest wars, surviving only because they were at each other's sides. Until, of course, that fateful day, when Lucifer had betrayed them, defied their father, then had the audacity to beg for Michael's forgiveness and ask for his help. How could Michael, who had loved Lucifer best of all, ever look his brother in the eye again?

Michael believed that he and his foretold vessel, the near infamous Dean Winchester, had that in common. After all, had not Sam Winchester, Lucifer's perfect vessel, done the exact same thing? He had betrayed his brother by fraternizing with the Hell spawn Ruby, killing Lucifer's chosen one Lilith, thereby setting Lucifer free. He had constantly defied John Winchester's wishes, which had nearly torn Dean apart, metaphorically speaking, of course.

Still, there was something about this unusual human, Sam, that made Michael wish that Lucifer acted more like his vessel. Perhaps it was the way he had so willingly allowed himself to be possessed by Lucifer so that his beloved brother would not have to take on the burden of being Michael's vessel. Or maybe it was the way he had looked at his brother when Dean had agreed to be his vessel. That look of sadness, shock, and betrayal almost perfectly mirrored the last look Lucifer had ever given his brother, except that it looked so much more innocent on Sam's face.

Sam obviously believed in his brother. Michael was unsure as to when that had changed between himself and Lucifer. Obviously there had to have been a time when Lucifer looked up to his brother. There had been a time when they had been the fiercest team in Heaven. They were to Heaven what the Winchesters were to Earth.

Of course, Sam was similar to Lucifer in a lot of ways as well. Sam did rebel and fight and break his brother's heart so ruthlessly and carelessly that Michael had heard the crack all the way in Heaven. Sam lived for himself, just like Lucifer, while Michael and Dean lived for their younger siblings. Lucifer was Michael's downfall, his so-called 'weak spot', as Dean Winchester had once so poetically put it. Sam was so obviously Dean's that it hurt Michael to use that bond to try and coerce Dean into saying Yes to him.

And yet, as he reappeared in the foretold cemetery, ready to fulfill his Heavenly duty and slay his beloved brother, only to find that Sam had burst forth in a last, desperate effort to save his brother, Michael still wished that Lucifer was more like his vessel, that he had been strong enough to resist the darkness inside of him, if only for the sake of his older brother.

And so, as Michael fell from Earth into the dark place he had banished his brother so many millennia before, he couldn't help but wonder how two beings such as the Winchester brothers had come to outshine the best that Heaven had to offer.

* * *

Lucifer hated humans, that was no secret. And yet, as he heard the soft growl of a 1967 Chevy Impala's engine and the classic rock songs that his vessel had grown up with approach Stull Cemetery, even he had to admit that some humans had at least a few enviable qualities.

Like Dean Winchester.

His irritatingly strong will and despicably unbreakable bond with his baby brother were qualities that he wished his own brother possessed, at least a little bit.

Of course, Dean had all the qualities that Lucifer had loathed in Michael. They both were pains in his ass. His annoying tendency to agree with whatever Dad ordered, no questions asked. His desire to save a human race that seemed so ready, willing, and able to destroy itself. His devotion to keep together a family that was destined to split apart. Dean Winchester was just a stupid, mutated monkey. And yet, occasionally, Lucifer wished that Michael had the same loyalty to his brother as Dean Winchester did.

Dean had gone to Sam, despite the fact that he was being possessed by an angel. Dean had done his best to break through Lucifer's control, to reach his baby brother and bring him back to the surface. Dean, unlike Michael, had refused to give up, to just lay down and allow his little brother to self-destruct. Dean had fought back, against both of them. It was a ballsy move, a move that Lucifer could have maybe even respected if it hadn't been a move against him and his revenge against the family that had disowned him.

Sam, like Lucifer, had been disowned. He'd been ridiculed for his choices. He'd made mistakes. His own father had warned his brother to kill him if he ever became evil. And yet, Dean still stood by him. Dean did not disown Sam. Dean did not begrudge Sam for wanting something different (even if he did, the smug bastard never let it show, not like his own jackass of a brother). Dean took on Sam's mistakes as his own failings, rather than leave him to flounder on his own. Dean hadn't followed his father's wishes, had actually killed himself so that Sam could live. Where was that kind of devotion in Michael?

Lucifer hated angels, archangels especially. He hated demons. But he hated humans most of all. They took for granted everything Lucifer, the Morning Star, had ever wanted for his own life, for his own family.

And yet, as he felt Sam Winchester's heart swell with love for the brother who would never abandon him, even when he was possessed by the Devil, and he found himself shoved into the recesses of Sam's mind, and he took the fall back into that damned pit, he found that he probably hated Sam and Dean Winchester most of all. Because they reminded him so much of the Glory Days of Heaven, when he and his beloved brother Michael flew through the skies, caring for Raphael and Gabriel, and gently teasing the younger angels, like Castiel and Anna. They were brothers, way back when. Family. Torn apart by a Father who was supposed to love them best, but never able to find a way to reconcile their differences.

Perhaps, he hated them most because he wished that Michael had a little bit more Dean in him.

* * *

 **A/N:** Okay, so I decided to save my author's note for the end. 104 chapters, over a thousand reviews, and some new friends made along the way. I'm so thankful to each and every one of you for being with me over this journey. This family changed my life, and I'm so appreciative of it all.

Please review to let me know what you think, and I shall see you all back here on Tuesday. All my prayers to those affected by Hurricane Harvey, Hurricane Irma, and the flash floods in Asia.


	105. Broken

**A/N:** Hi everybody, and welcome to season 6! I can't wait to hear what you all think about this chapter. I'm not gonna lie, I was a little disappointed about the review count/view count for the last chapter. I thought the _Swan Song_ chapter would get more reviews and views. Anyway. Thanks to Bjester74, Tomb Raider and Walking Dead, Dragonsrule18, LadyCumberBunny, hectatess, shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod, and piece2gether. You guys are the best.

So, this chapter is tagged to 6x01, _Exile on Main Street_. So, there have only been a few episodes when I've ever been truly pissed off at Bobby Singer, and the season 6 premiere is number one on that list. This chapter details why, and how I feel about it (and how I think Dean feels about it as well).

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

 **Broken**

Dean sank into the seat across the table from Bobby, hands clasped around the beer bottle that seemed to be the only thing tethering him to reality.

"Dean…"

The man in question shut the older hunter up with a glare that would make Lucifer himself cry. "I don't want to hear it, Bobby." Bobby internally cringed at the tone of Dean's voice. The poor man sounded completely wrecked, and the sting of betrayal permeated every word. "You lied to me. You let me go on thinking that my brother—my baby brother—was dead, when he was probably sitting where I am the whole God damned time."

"Dean—"

"I'm not finished!" The militaristic roar rocked Bobby back on his heels. Dean rarely ever raised his voice at Bobby: once, when the boys were just that, _boys_ , and Sam had sprained his ankle. Bobby had tried to pick the kid up (he had only been about 7 years old) when Dean had scared the bejeezus out of him by yelling at him before scooping the kid up himself. The only other time had been right after Cold Oak. "You said that you would do it all over again, because you thought I had gotten out of the life. You thought that I was happy." His voice was eerily calm, as though he was talking about a run-of-the-mill hunt or a less-than-exciting ball game. "If you had seen me, you'd've told me in a heartbeat. I—"

Dean cut himself off. Telling Bobby wouldn't make anything better. It wouldn't make the old man change his decision. Still, maybe if Bobby had seen Dean during that year, he would feel at least a tinge of regret. If he had seen the way Dean was drunk more often than not, maybe he would have told him that Sammy was alive. If he knew that the biggest challenge the once great hunter faced some days was just getting out of bed in the morning, perhaps he would have staged a family reunion. If Bobby knew the weight of the mask he wore during that year, the monumental effort it took to keep that smile on his face and play Mr. Suburbs, and the exhaustion that followed, or if he knew about the nightmares, the constant screaming for Sam in his sleep until he learned how to wake himself up so he wouldn't disturb Lisa and Ben, maybe he would have taken pity on the eldest Winchester.

Dean thought back on the so-called 'picture perfect' holidays he had forced himself through. Christmas found him skipping out on the family celebration only to find himself at a crappy motel with too strong eggnog, a football game that went unwatched, and a can of shaving cream with nobody to give it to. His birthday went uncelebrated, as per his wishes. Father's Day saw Ben try to give him a crappy school made card, his words of thanks for being an awesome guy drowned out by the echo of his father's voice in his mind, stating over and over that Dean had failed him and let his little brother go to Hell. Mother's Day had been spent in the cemetery, with Dean crying over his mother's headstone, apologizing over and over again for letting her down, allowing her sacrifice to go to waste. That first summer spent with them had been horrible. One of Ben's friends had a big brother who went to Stanford. One look at the Stanford t-shirt and Dean was locked in the garage having a panic attack that had led to what he thought was another heart attack, but turned out only to be a stress-induced cardiomyopathy. "Broken heart syndrome," the doc had explained with a sad look in his eyes, as though he knew the pain that Dean was feeling. Nothing serious, but it had further resolved Dean in his quest.

Dean swallowed back his tears and took a swig of his beer to steady his hands. "If…if you knew what I had been through…If you knew what it was like to try to be happy when…You woulda told me. You _shoulda_ told me."

"Just because he's back now…" Bobby trailed off when he saw the glint in Dean's eye. "Fine, just because he's been back this whole time, and you only found out now, doesn't mean you weren't happy, kid. You can't convince yourself that what you had wasn't real."

"But it wasn't real Bobby!" The beer bottle crashed to the table, a small dribble of amber liquid trickling out as Dean buried his head in his hands. "You and Sam thought I was building something with those two. Maybe I was, but it was nothing more than a house of cards. One stiff breeze would have knocked it all over. If it hadn't been Sam, I would've done it myself! How was I supposed to do normal when the only normal I've ever known is that kid and he was…"

The tension rose as the sound of the ticking clock echoed through the kitchen.

Dean sucked in a shaky breath. "I spent months researching the Cage and Lucifer and Michael. I went off, half-cocked, maybe half a dozen times to make a deal with any witch, reaper, or Ruby-Friggin'-Wannabe that I could find."

"You promised him that you wouldn't." Bobby knew that protesting was as useless as tits on a bull. Part of him still felt that keeping Sam's secret had been in Dean's best interest, but the other part could still hear that pre-pubescent voice screaming at him not to touch his baby brother. That was the part of him that remembered what Castiel had told him after the boys' brief sojourn into Heaven when Walt and Roy had killed them. Only really special people got to share their little slice of Heaven. Soulmates is what Cas had called them, but not the romantic, Hallmark definition. Two halves of a whole. Two people who couldn't survive without each other. Bobby understood what the angel was saying, even if the boys didn't. That pansy-assed definition of 'soulmates' was fitting for the two men who had sacrificed everything for each other.

Bobby shuddered to think that Dean's soul—that so precious thing that Dean had auctioned off to the lowest bidder to save his kid brother—had been wandering the Earth for the past year, yearning for something that didn't want to be found.

Dean released a quaky sob before turning his red-rimmed eyes towards Bobby. "I promised him I wouldn't try to get him out. I never said nothin' about not joining him."

Bobby could only gape at him. Sure, the idgit had sold his soul a few years back, but Bobby had never even entertained the thought that the eldest Winchester was suicidal. Hell, Dean seemed the exact opposite. He consistently, and with dogged determination, defied death. The heart attack, the car accident, selling his soul, going to Hell, all that crud with the Trickster/Archangel-in-Disguise, Walt and Roy shooting him, Lucifer nearly beating the life out of him, and Dean came back swinging every single time. Hell, Dean had eaten pizza with Death and walked away from it scot free.

Bobby was scared. He had faced down demons, angels, wendigos, rugarus, pagan gods and goddesses without batting an eye. He'd put down his own wife —twice—and was able to walk away from it without turning into a blubbering mess. He'd even sold his own god damned soul to the newly minted King of Hell in order to stop the freaking Apocalypse. But hearing that this boy in front of him had been so willing to throw away his life scared him more than any vamp ever would.

"Dean—" Bobby reached out to put his hand on his arm, but Dean shrugged away with a wan smile.

"No chick flick moments, Old Man," he chuckled tearfully. He picked up his beer bottle and stared at the small puddle of alcohol that remained within it. They sat in tense silence for a moment before Dean spoke again. "Do you know what Lisa just told me?" He barely waited for Bobby to shrug before continuing. "She said that she expected me to be messed up when I showed up on her doorstep, but that despite the nightmares and the drinking and the depression and the constant up and leaving, it was the best year of her life." Dean smiled ruefully before chugging back the remaining beer. "How was I supposed to tell her that it was one of the worst of mine, Bobby? How was I supposed to tell her that in every 'happy' moment, I could hear Sam screaming for me to help him? How do I tell her that sometimes Ben reminds me so much of Sammy at that age that I can barely look at him?"

"I…I don't know, son."

Dean cocked his head to the side and smiled bitterly. Bobby knew from experience that this particular smile was usually saved for demons, vampires, and witnesses who gave him any flack. "That's right Bobby. You don't know. And I hope for your sake that you never will."

Dean stood up and walked out the back door, heading for the junkyard. A few minutes later, Bobby could hear the sound of some old clunker getting the absolute tar beaten out of it with an old sledgehammer.

Bobby removed his cap, wiped his forehead, and sighed. He hated seeing Dean so broken. Worse, he hated knowing that itwas his fault. He hated knowing that the trusting bond that had been forged between them was laying on the floor, shattered. He hated himself, for not fighting against Sam's idea to keep his brother in the dark. He hated Sam, and how he seemed to have no remorse for the pain he had, however inadvertently, caused his brother. At that moment, Bobby hated the whole world for the pain it had caused his boys.

The world had been broken, and his boys had broken themselves in order to fix it. Now, it seemed, Sam had taken it upon himself to break his brother. If he wasn't broken already.

* * *

 **A/N:** Well, I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter! Please drop me a line telling me what you thought, and I shall see you all on Tuesday!


	106. Ghosts

**A/N:** Wow, guys I am so touched by the response to the last chapter! It means a lot to me! Thanks to zekeschance, DearHart, Dragonsrule18, shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod, evi1721, waitingforAslan, Tomb Raider and Walking Dead, LadyCumberBunny, bagelcat1 (x2), Colby's girl, hectatess, and piece2gether for their amazing, heartwarming reviews.

So, this chapter is tagged to 6x02, _Two and a Half Men_. This started as one thing, and ended up as another. I hope you guys like it.

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

 _"Lisa has a baby niece, so I've been on a few milk runs..."_

 **Ghosts**

Lisa Braedon had come to expect mornings like this. As of late, they had been few and far between, but over the course of the past six months, she had learned to prepare herself for the inevitable shoe dropping.

All of those mornings started the same. She would awake, refreshed and ready to face the day, only to find that Dean, her wonderfully stoic and solid Dean, was already awake, with his back braced flat against the headboard, knees pulled up to his bare chest, and eyes staring out at the hundreds of horrors she knew were invisible to her, but all too real for him.

The first few times it had happened, she had attempted to pull him out of it. Calling his name, shaking his shoulder, doing what she could to pull him back to the land of the living. Eventually, she had learned that the best thing to do was just leave him be. Sometimes that meant just leaving him in bed all day; other times it meant listening to the squeal of tires against the pavement as he and that old car of his rocketed out of the garage, never knowing if she would ever see him again.

It was harder on Ben than it was on her. Her precious boy couldn't understand why Dean, that larger than life hero who had risked his life for a bunch of kids he didn't even know, was suddenly so…broken. Ben had left all of his friends behind when they had moved so that Lisa could be closer to her sister, Maggie, and Maggie's newborn daughter, but that was the only real loss he knew of, and Lisa knew it couldn't even come close to comparing to the marrow-deep pain Dean was in.

Still, Lisa endured. She comforted her boyfriend and her son, and was there for her sister while her brother-in-law was away on business.

The phone call came just after 6 o'clock in the morning on a brisk fall Sunday. Lisa's niece had been crying all night, and her sister was at her wits end. She assured Maggie that she could bring Taylor over so that Lisa could calm the baby, hung up the phone, and rolled over to inform Dean of the situation, only to find he was already awake, but that his mind was a thousand leagues under the surface of the Earth.

Lisa sighed, knowing there was nothing she could really do about it. Dean had gotten better; better than he had been, at least. The screaming and the nightmares seemed to have ceased, but Lisa knew that Dean had a long road ahead of him. The way that Sam and Dean had interacted with each other last time, she knew that Dean would not get over the loss of his brother easily. All that was left for Lisa to do was get dressed, go downstairs, and prepare for his sister's visit with her cranky baby.

* * *

Maggie sat on the couch, hands over her ears as tears trickled down her face. 4-month-old Taylor was sitting screaming in her Auntie Lisa's arms, and Lisa's face was pinched with a mix of concentration and frustration.

"Lise, she hasn't stopped in like 4 hours! I should take her to the hospital," Maggie wept, tugging at her hair with her hands.

"Shh, Maggie, the doctor already told you it's just colic. Taylor's fine; I went through the exact same thing with Ben," Lisa soothed, walking up and down the length of her living room, bouncing the baby as she went. Unfortunately, the normally soothing motion seemed to only upset the baby more, and the screaming got louder. Ben had already abandoned ship, and Lisa knew that Dean was beyond reach, so she and Maggie were on their own.

"I don't know how you did it," Maggie murmured. "Raising Ben all on your own, and he's a great kid. Dan and I are ready to pull our hair out with Taylor."

"Yeah, well, I didn't really have a choice. I—"

"Oh, hi Dean."

Lisa turned to see Dean standing in the doorway, and she offered him a shaky smile. Inwardly, she cursed. Dealing with her family drama was the last thing he needed to be worried about. Yet, her mountain of a man was standing there in front of her, grief-stricken expression barely concealed behind a mask of concern, and he had his arms out, prepared to take the baby from her.

Lisa tiptoed over to him. "Are you sure?"

Dean nodded and took Taylor into his arms, resting her head on his shoulder as he ran one of his hands up and down her back. He wandered off into the kitchen and Lisa heard the faint strains of his humming echo back towards her as the kitchen door swung shut. She collapsed onto the couch next to Maggie, who curled up next to her and placed her head on her older sister's shoulder. Taylor's screams were muffled, and both women took a chance to revel in the near silence.

"Is he okay?"

Lisa lifted her head off her sister's and looked down at her. "Who? Dean?"

Maggie nodded. "He looked so good at the barbecue, but he looks…I don't know, almost…"

"Broken?" The word left Lisa's lips before she could catch it and lock it away.

"Yeah."

Lisa sighed. "Yeah, he's been having a rough time since he got discharged."

It was a story they had rehearsed time and time again, knowing that people would wonder why Dean suddenly popped back up, and that they would need a good excuse for his less-than-normal temperament. The military seemed like a perfect cover story, and Lisa was able to spin the memory of Sam and Dean's moroseness into it as well.

"What exactly happened to him over there?"

"Well, he hasn't been able to tell me much; all that classified red tape junk. But…he and his team were out on patrol, and something happened. His little brother, Sam…he sacrificed himself for everyone, and Dean had to watch."

"Oh my god…"

Lisa nodded sadly. "Dean never talks about Sam anymore, but you can tell how much it hurts him. Their mom died when Dean was just a kid, and their Dad was military too, so they were always moving around. Sam was all Dean really had. And now he's gone."

Both women were quiet for a moment, and Lisa absentmindedly noted the silence coming from the other room.

"He's lucky to have you, you know."

Lisa smirked humorlessly. "You know, after that first week we spent together, I didn't think I'd ever see him again. Then, he came back…on furlough a few years ago, with Sam. I thought that would be the last time I saw him. Then he stopped by right before he and Sam shipped out. He just keeps coming back when I least expect him."

"At least he's here for good now, right?"

Lisa chuckled. "You know, I'm not so sure?"

"What do you mean?"

"Look, he's great. He's amazing and wonderful, but…I'm under no illusions here. I know what this is. He needs someone to fill the hole, and for some reason he chose me and Ben. But, I know that if Sam were to walk up those front steps right now, he'd walk away."

"But that's never gonna happen," Maggie grasped her wrist as Lisa moved away. "Lisa, Dean's here, and his brother, sad as it is, is gone. He's not going anywhere."

Lisa gulped as she struggled to smile. Lisa had seen some strange things since Dean Winchester had re-entered her life. Cannibalistic children, Dean on the news as one of the FBI's most wanted, the craziest things happening all over the world that she just knew were tied to Dean's job. Sam Winchester coming back to life would not surprise her, not one bit.

Dean walked into the room, Taylor asleep in his arms. He smiled wanly at Lisa as he deposited the infant in her arms and strode out the front door.

Lisa listened to the telltale squeal of the Impala's tires against the pavement as it rocketed down the street, and wondered, not for the first time, if it would be Sam who dragged Dean away from her, or Sam's ghost.

* * *

 **A/N:** So I hope you guys liked that one. Season 6 has been a little difficult for me so far, writing wise, so if you have any ideas for upcoming chapters, please let me know in a review. Hope to see you all back here on Tuesday.


	107. Alone

**A/N:** Hey guys. How's it going? I'd like to thank zekeschance, Bjester74, SammysGirl42, bagelcat1, Colby's girl, shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod, piece2gether, and hectatess for the reviews. They mean a lot.

This chapter is tagged to 6x03, _The Third Man_. Hope you all enjoy.

 **Disclaimer** **:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

 **Alone**

After the initial shock of it all, Dean tried to be understanding. He really did. Of course, the revelation that his brother had been alive for the better part of a year, and that he had left Dean to rot in his grief-stricken exile in suburgatory, had all left a bitter taste in his mouth and a vice around his heart that refused to loosen, but he really had tried to understand.

Sam thought it was for the best. He didn't know that his heart condition had returned with a vengeance, or about the nightmares, or about the zombie he had been over those months. Sam had been trying to give him what he thought his big brother had always wanted. Sam had been trying to help Dean regain the normal life he would have had if demons hadn't come knocking on their door twenty some-odd years ago. Sam also never thought he was wrong, and, apparently, his convictions had been strong enough to be able to convince Bobby as well.

The fact of the matter was that Sam hadn't looked for him the second he got out of Hell ( _not like Dean had, anyway_ ), and Dean was doing his big brother damnedest to be understanding of that, even if the logic behind it was screwed to, well, Hell. He could even accept it, when he was three sheets to the wind and alone in a bar in a town where nobody knew his name or his brother's name or his father's name. It hurt, more than he would _ever_ tell Sam, but he could shove it down with everything else that had ever hurt him and move on.

Sam calling the Campbell's family didn't sit well with him either, if he was being honest. Sam had never even met his namesake before, but Dean had, and he knew that Samuel Campbell was a piece of work. He could get by that, because he did what he had to for family, and Sam was all he had left of that. Seeing him pal around with Christian and Gwen and the rest of Mom's supposed relatives ( _none of whom had shown up for her funeral_ ) stung. _These_ were the people Sam had elected to hang out with. Not the big brother who would have willingly thrown himself into the Pit alongside Sam and Adam and Lucifer and Michael. Instead, Sam chose to hang out, hunt with, _**trust**_ complete and total strangers.

Dean fought with the inkling that he was just jealous of Sam's ability to get along without him, or that he was jealous of Sam's relationship with the other members of their family. If he was, then sue him. He was allowed. After years of being all his brother had, he was allowed to be a little steamed that the dork had chosen somebody else to hang out with, leaving him in the lurch. And if his protective older brother instincts were stuck in overdrive after a year of being in park, that was his prerogative. It wasn't like Sam hadn't done the same thing when _he'd_ gotten back from Hell. Dean wasn't blind; he'd seen the resentment in Sam's eyes whenever Cas had come around, even if the angel had been in douchey Terminator mode and definitely not a friend. Dean didn't want to turn the whole Campbell family situation into the new and improved Ruby argument. They had spent almost a year bitching at each other about angels and demons and " _how could you chose_ _ **them**_ _?_ ", and it had almost ended the world because they weren't on the same page. So, Dean did his best to let the Campbell situation slide, rationalizing his hesitancy to trust them as jealousy and his protective streak acting up.

Cas didn't seem overly suspicious of them, which was something that Dean felt should be taken into consideration. The angel hadn't been around much in the past year. In fact, Dean hadn't seen him since that night in the car when he'd been driving to Lisa's, and he'd made the conscious decision to tank every friendship he had on his way out of the life. But Dean knew the angel was always watching, and if he didn't think there was anything funky about Sam and their long-dead grandfather walking about in the world, then Dean would just have to sit on his hands and not do anything about it. Even though he knew Winchester luck never paid off the way they thought it would, he would take the gift that was his brother being returned to him, and not question it.

Sam was alive. He was walking, talking, _breathing_ , like nothing ever happened. Of course, there were things that felt…off…about him. Like his eyes or his smile or the way that he maneuvered on a hunt. It all felt about 50 shades of wrong, but Dean could and would let it slide. He knew he hadn't been all sunshine and rainbows after his stint in Hell, and that was just being on the rack. Sam had been in Lucifer's cage, with two pissed off archangels who had been denied a cage match. He was allowed to be different, act different, because he wasn't the happy-go-lucky kid Dean had picked up from Stanford half a decade ago.

But it wasn't until they were standing in a motel room, an unconscious kid on the couch in front of them, and their angel friend was elbow deep in the kid's chest that Dean realized just how different Sam was. Not only standing by to let Cas _torture_ an innocent kid, but physically holding him back when he tried to stop it from happening. Usually it was the other way around. A year ago, it was Dean all willing to do the torturing, Cas deliberating on the moral rightness of the situation, and Sam being firmly against all harm being done to anyone, good or bad.

What had happened to his kid? What had happened to his friend? Why was it that, after a year of feeling so _alone_ without them, now Dean felt more alone than ever?

* * *

 **A/N:** I hope you guys enjoyed that. Please let me know what you thought. Also, if any of you watch _This Is Us_ , let me know what you thought of the premiere! Because I cannot stop crying right now. Lots of love and I'll see you all on Tuesday.


	108. Heart to Heart

**A/N:** Hi again. Hope you all enjoyed the last chapter. The last few chapters haven't gotten a whole lot of reviews, so I'm wondering if you guys are still with me or if something is just...missing. If that's the case, let me know. I'm always looking to improve. Thanks to waitingforAslan, Tomb Raider and Walking Dead (x2), LadyCumberBunny, hectatess, and shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod for the reviews. I had a really crappy day at work today, and you guys all made me smile. So thanks for that.

This chapter is tagged to 6x04, _Weekend at Bobby's_. Hope you all enjoy.

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

 **Heart to Heart**

The sound of retching greeted Bobby as he opened the door to the bathroom and leaned against the door jam.

"I thought you said the flight was okay?"

Dean raised his head enough to glower at him from his hunched position over the toilet. "Delayed reaction…"

Sam snorted as he strolled past the bathroom on his way downstairs. "Yeah, from your liver, protesting the bottle of Scotch you drank, _by yourself_ , on the eight-hour flight. I told you you shouldn't've done it, but _nooo_ …"

Dean's head fell as Sam bounced down the stairs, but Bobby couldn't tell if it was from exhaustion, shame, defeat, or some dangerous cocktail of all of the above.

Bobby waited until he heard the front door slam shut before he turned back to Dean and helped the man up off the floor. He dumped Dean onto the ledge of the bathtub and flushed the toilet, lowering the lid so he could sit on top. Bobby leaned over to wet a washcloth and tossed it at Dean, who wiped his forehead and the back of his neck before leaning back against the tiled wall.

"Never trusting your restaurant suggestions again, Old Man," Dean grumbled. "Haggis…blech."

Bobby grinned despite himself. "You never did have any appreciation for culture."

Dean grimaced at him. "Don't you start on me too. Got enough of that crap from Sam after my Olive Garden comment."

Bobby stared at his lap for a moment. He knew that things weren't so good between his boys at present, despite Dean's joy at finding his younger brother alive. Sam was different after his stint in the Cage, as brief as it may have been, and Dean's time in suburgatory had softened him, even if he didn't want to admit it. They weren't meshing like they used to. A year apart would do that to a man, but it was odd that it was only affecting Dean. Sam seemed immune to it all.

"Look, Dean…what was it that you wanted to say earlier? On the phone?"

Dean scoffed. "Don't worry about it, Bobby. You made it pretty clear that you didn't want to hear it."

"Now, don't go bein' like that, son. I had Sheriff Mills up my ass, Rufus askin' me about burying a dead body, and I was trying to get my damn soul back. You just caught me at a bad time."

The younger man slowly shook his head, looking up at him with his lady-killing green eyes and a wry smile on his face. John hadn't taught Sam how to do the puppy dog look, that much was for damn sure. Dean had always been able to get him to cave to whatever he wanted with that look, and he had gone and taught it to his kid brother. "Like, I said, don't worry about it."

Bobby stood and planted himself in the doorframe. "I wanna know, Dean. You said that something didn't feel right. How do you mean?"

"Don't concern yourself, Bobby," Dean growled as he tried to shove his way past, but Bobby got a good grip on his shirtsleeve. "Fine, you really wanna know?" He barely paused for Bobby to nod before wrenching himself away and planting himself less than a foot away. "He never sleeps, barely eats. All he wants to do is hunt, 24/7. We've barely wrapped up one case and he's shoving another one down my throat."

"Dean, when you got back from Hell—"

"When I got back from Hell, I was different. I know that. Sam's back, but he's not _Sam_ anymore Bobby. He's all point and shoot, move on to the next target. We hunted a vamp a few weeks ago, and Sam took his head off like it was nothing. He used to talk my ear off about right and wrong, about how some monsters deserve to be redeemed, but he just doesn't _care_ anymore."

"Dean, he's been through a lot. Giving monsters a second chance kinda came back to bite him in the ass, so he's probably just gun-shy about it now, after everything."

"He held me back and watched as Cas _tortured_ a little kid. He couldn't have been any more than 10, and Sam just let Cas shove his hand through this kid who had made an innocent mistake! The kid was screaming, and Sam didn't even bat an eye!"

"Dean…" Bobby sighed. "Are you sure you ain't just lookin' for things to be different? I know Sam not comin' to find you didn't exactly sit well with you…"

The withering look Dean shot him killed the rest of his argument. He and Dean had been on better terms lately, the past few days excepted, but Bobby knew that a couple of good months wouldn't erase the betrayal Dean was feeling. Bobby had kept Dean from Sam, and that was something Dean would never forget, even if he did eventually forgive him. The fact of the matter was that Dean had popped out of the ground and immediately set off to find his little brother, but Sam had made the conscious decision to team up with the Campbells instead. Sure, his heart had been in the right place, leaving Dean with his girl instead of dragging him back into the world of the supernatural, but Bobby knew that the oldest Winchester would never see it that way.

"Never mind…" Dean muttered as he pushed past Bobby and trudged towards his bedroom. They weren't even sharing a bedroom anymore, even though the twin beds remained pushed against opposite sides of the room. Sam claimed to find the couch more comfortable, especially since Dean was right, he wasn't sleeping anymore. The way Sam had been acting sure wasn't natural, not for the warm-hearted, kind-souled kid Bobby had had the pleasure of watching grow up. But what could Bobby do? It wasn't like he had a manual on Lucifer's Cage or spontaneous regeneration lying around. Still, something inside of him felt like he owed Dean for the pain he had caused with the best of intentions.

"I'll look into it."

Dean half turned, barely enough for him to catch Bobby's gaze. He nodded once, his eyes softening.

"Thank you."

Bobby nodded back and walked down the stairs, heading into his study to start his search. If there was one thing he was good at, it was research, and if there was one person he didn't mind doing it for, it was Dean Winchester.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thanks for reading and I hope you all enjoyed. Happy early Thanksgiving to all my Canadian readers, and have an awesome long weekend. I know I will. Love you all and see you back here on Tuesday.


	109. A Beer Between Brothers

**A/N:** Hi guys! Hope everyone had a great week! I did! I was lucky enough to go to TorCon this weekend, and fortunate to meet Jared, Jensen, and Misha at their photo ops. Those three changed my life, so I am so thankful that I got a chance to thank them for that in person. I can share stories from the con if you guys want, but right now I want to thank to waitingforAslan, hectatess, Bjester74, Tomb Raider and Walking Dead, evi1721, bagelcat1, SammysGirl42 (x2), Colby's girl, BelladonasMom, and shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod for their amazing reviews.

So, this chapter is tagged to episode 6x05, _Live Free or Twi-Hard._ What an episode. Broke my heart into a million tiny pieces. I hope this helps repair some of the damage.

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

 **A Beer Between Brothers**

 _ **May 2010**_

 _The muffled thud was what woke him. Not that he had really been sleeping. Knowing the Apocalypse was breathing down their necks, Lucifer was alive and kicking, and that tomorrow…Well, sleep was a hard-won thing on a good night for Bobby Singer, and this was by no means a good night._

 _Bobby hauled himself up from his bed and grabbed his rifle from his bedside, slipping down the hall and descending the stairs with a stealthy grace that belied his advanced years, cursing whatever numpty decided that tonight of all nights was the best time to break into his house with every step. He skipped the creaky stair and slowed his breathing as he heard hushed voices echo through the silent halls leading to the kitchen._

" _Dude, we have to be quiet!"_

" _Don't you think I know that, dumbass?"_

" _I wasn't sure; you did drop your freakin' beer bottle!"_

" _Shut up, bitch!"_

" _Make me, jerk!"_

 _Bobby heaved a silent sigh and allowed his rifle to droop silently to rest harmlessly against his leg. Those nitwits were going to drive him to an early grave, he just knew it. What with their plan for the next few days, and his most recent conversation with Dean still ringing in his ears, Bobby wouldn't be surprised if his heart just gave out on him in the coming weeks._

 _He turned to ascend the stairs, hoping to get a couple hours sleep before having to hit the road to Chicago and face the crap-storm that would meet them there, but he paused when he heard the boys' voices._

" _You remember the first time you had a beer?"_

 _A small chuckle. "Yeah, I was what? 16? Dad was so pissed at you for giving me one."_

" _Pssh, I was 14 when I had my first whiskey. A beer at 16 wasn't gonna kill you."_

" _The way he acted, it was like you tried to poison me or somethin'…"_

" _Heh…yeah, he always tried to protect you from stuff like that. He couldn't keep you out of hunting, but he could protect you from the rest of the life. Beer, broads, bars…He wanted you to do good, ya know?"_

" _Yeah, I think I do." Bobby heard the echo of clinking bottles through the hallway. "De'…"_

" _Don't Sammy."_

" _Please…" Silence, and Bobby could almost hear Dean's heart skip a beat in anxiousness over what his brother was going to say. "Just, you know, when I left? All those times I left…it was never about you. You know that, right?"_

" _Sam—"_

" _I know it must've seemed like I was leaving you, but I wasn't. I swear to god. It was about Dad and the life and the deaths, but not you."_

" _Sam, I know. It's all in the past, man. Don't worry about it."_

" _Okay…and this isn't me leaving you either."_

" _Sam, please…"_

" _I know, I know. It's just…I wanted you to know. It's got nothing to do with you."_

 _Dean's response was quiet and pain-filled. It broke Bobby just to hear it, so he couldn't imagine how Sam was feeling, sitting right across from his brother. "I know, Sam. I know."_

 _Bobby took a risk, and peeked around the corner into the kitchen. His boys were sitting across from each other, the better part of a six-pack sitting empty between them, the silvery moonlight casting their shadows onto the wall. Sam's hand was clasped around Dean's wrist, as though Dean had tried to get up or walk away during their conversation. He watched as Dean reached across the table and grasped Sam's wrist with his free hand._

 _Bobby moved soundlessly up the stairs, knowing he would not be getting any more sleep that night._

* * *

"When was the last time we had a beer together, anyway?" Dean pondered thoughtfully as he and Sam sat across from each other in The Black Rose bar. He knew it had to be that night before the world (or at least, his world) ended, but he wondered if Sam even remembered that night. His brother had been so distant since he'd gotten back, and Dean was completely willing to step into chick flick territory, to reach out to Sam and bring Sammy back, if it meant he didn't have to walk around feeling like his brother didn't actually want him there. They never talked. They never had those quiet moments where Dean knew they were just reveling in the love and loyalty and care they had for each other, even if they never said it. Dean had his brother back, but it wasn't Sammy.

It wasn't like Sam's distance wasn't completely warranted, but Dean had expected Sam's walls to slowly fall as he came to realize that Dean wasn't running out on him anytime soon. Dean would be there for as long as Sam was alive and breathing, even if that meant that he would have to deal with the likes of the Campbell family. Still, Dean could only blame himself when Sam's walls didn't weaken and fall. He had turned on Sam when he first came to find him. He had chosen to protect Lisa and Ben over hitting the road with his little brother, which, if the situation was reversed, would have definitely broken something inside of Dean. If Sam's walls were up, it was because Dean hadn't been there for him when Sam decided to reach out.

But Dean always saw that distance as a bridge they could one day cross, together. Sure, it had taken him a few weeks of hesitation before he had been willing to go back on the road with Sam, but he had made promises to Lisa (based on a promise he made to Sam), and Dean Winchester never reneged on a deal. But he was back where he belonged. The Impala grumbling under him, his little brother at his side, and nothing but the open road ahead.

When he caught site of Sam standing there with a small smile on his face as that vamp tore into him and ended his life as he knew it for the second time that year, Dean again had to wonder whether or not he actually had his brother back. And, if he did, was he the same Sam? And was there any going back?

* * *

 **A/N:** So, there's another one in the bag. Hope you enjoyed. Drop me a review to let me know what you thought, and if you want to hear about the con, just drop me a line and I'd be more than happy (no, seriously, I'd probably jump through the screen if I could) to share. Love you all, and I will see you all back here on Tuesday!


	110. happy, adj

**A/N:** Hi everyone! Hope everyone had a fun, safe, and happy week! And happy season 13! Thanks to waitingforAslan, CammieInTheMaking (x3), SammysGirl42, Tomb Raider and Walking Dead, Sallyannerenee (x7), bagelcat1, Colby's girl, hectatess, and shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod for the reviews. They definitely put a smile on my face.

This chapter is tagged to 6x06, _You Can't Handle the Truth_. Not trying to give too much away, this is where she lost me.

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

 **happy, adj.**

No matter what she may or may not have told her sister, Lisa knew that Dean was never completely, 100 percent _hers_. The episodes of moroseness and depression were proof enough of his complete and utter dependency on Sam, even without his making a run for it every couple of months. But, even though she had seen things that, 10 years previous, she never would have thought possible, she had never really counted on Sam coming _back_.

" _Sam…he…uh…he's in H—Hell. The Apocalypse…he—he stopped it. He jumped into Hell wi—with Lucifer…and Michael…and he's just…he's just…gone."_

Hell. Lucifer. Michael. She'd heard Dean whimpering something about a cage in the middle of one of his night terrors too, so she figured that might have something to do with Sam's… _predicament_ too. With all of that, she figured there was no way in…well, in Hell that Sam would be able to return. Dean had told her that he had gotten out of Hell with an angel's help once before, but that was a different part of Hell, and he was part of a bigger plan and, well, honestly, she didn't understand half of it, but she got the gist. Dean had come back. Sam couldn't. Of course, she was sad for Dean's sake, and for Sam's. Nobody deserved to have to save the world, and yet it had been placed on the shoulders of these men who had already sacrificed so much. And, of course, she'd been happy to find out that Sam had, inexplicably, made it out of Hell. A little disappointed, if she was being completely honest with herself, because she knew that, no matter how much they both said it would never happen, her time with Dean now had an expiration date, but she was happy that a great man (two great men) was no longer in pain.

Lisa knew Dean was on edge about something, and she was still pretty steamed about the incident a few weeks previous, but she had willingly brought him under her roof and taken care of him even though she knew he had a truckload of baggage. She wouldn't quit on him now, even if her motherhood instincts were screaming at her to keep him as far away from Ben as possible. She didn't care if he brought monsters to her door; it had happened before he had become a permanent fixture in their lives, and it would surely happen again now that they knew what was really out there. She loved him. She wanted to be with him. She wanted Dean, and Ben, and, yes, even Sam, to be part of her family. She wanted to be happy, and she wanted Dean to be happy.

"You knew what you signed on for." Dean's voice was weighed down by the exhaustion and misery that had become typical for him since he had left them.

"Yeah. But I didn't expect Sam to come back." The words she had hidden away in the darkest, deepest corners of her mind and heart came spewing forth. "And I'm glad he's okay. But the minute he walked through that door, I knew. It was over. You know, you two have the most unhealthy, tangled-up, crazy thing I've ever seen. And as long as he's in your life, you're never gonna be happy." Lisa blinked as her mind caught up with her mouth. "That came out so much harsher than I meant."

"It's not your fault." Now he sounded even more miserable.

"I'm not saying don't be close to Sam. I'm close to my sister. But if she got killed, I wouldn't bring her back from the dead!" Again, the words just slipped past her lips like some sort of harsh and bitter word vomit.

"Okay, Lise, I'm not gonna lie. Okay, me and Sam…we…we've got issues. No doubt. But you and Ben—"

Her mothering instincts won out while her brain was too busy trying to stop the words from falling out of her. "Me and Ben can't be in this with you. I'm sorry."

* * *

Dean sat with his head hanging low. He knew he had screwed up during the whole my-brother-let-me-get-turned-into-a-vampire-and-I'm-gonna-die-so-I-want-to-see-my-girl-before-I-do thing, but he hadn't realized that him being away had been so tough on her. She had signed off on it, threatened him, even, when he was hesitant to leave. For half a second, he thought he could actually have it all. He thought, maybe, he could have the Apple Pie life _and_ the hunting life with his brother. As if his mother's past wasn't enough of a warning that the two didn't mix, with Sam's situation post-Stanford as an unfortunate encore of that lesson, he was just stupid enough to think that maybe he could pull it off. Maybe he could be the one Winchester who made it work.

It was a stupid decision, even if it was Sam's final wish for him, to go to Lisa and Ben when he was down and out. He opened himself up to them to fill the void left by his brother's absence, which ultimately left them vulnerable when Sam turned up again. A Catch-22 if there ever was one. He wanted to go and hunt with Sam, but that would leave Lisa and Ben open to attack. He wanted to stay with Lisa and Ben, but Sam was _back_. His brother was alive, and it was like that part of himself that he had walled off after Sam's death was alive too. He knew it would be tricky trying to balance both sides of himself, but he had to try.

Lisa's words didn't come as a surprise to him. He knew that, as strong as she was, their situation was wearing on her. It was wearing on him, and he was the one who their deal was benefitting.

" _As long as he's in your life, you're never gonna be happy…_ "

That was surprising. She knew how much he had struggled without Sam over the course of their year together, and she thought he'd be happier _without_ his brother? That was something that Dean couldn't wrap his head around. Happy without Sam? It just didn't make sense.

* * *

 **A/N:** A bit of a heavy chapter, and I get where the writers were going with that line of Lisa's, but it really pissed me off. Lisa was great, but the second she said that, truth spell or not, she lost Dean. Anyway. Hope you all enjoyed! Drop me a review to let me know what you thought about both this and the season 13 premiere! Love you all lots!


	111. A Painful Diagnosis

**A/N:** Hi everybody! Hope you all had a very good weekend. Thanks to NightReader22 (x7), hollyhobbit101 (x2), waitingforAslan, SammysGirl42, piece2gether, redlite, evi1721, Tomb Raider and Walking Dead, bagelcat1, CammieInTheMaking (x4), hectatess, DearHart, shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod, and Sallyannerenee for the reviews. And thanks to piece2gether for the idea for this chapter. Hope I did you proud.

This chapter is tagged to 6x07, _Family Matters_. Hope you all enjoy.

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

 **A Painful Diagnosis**

When Dean prayed to him, he came, because Dean did not often pray, and when he did, Castiel knew that it was a matter of some urgency. So, when Dean prayed to him, saying that something was wrong with his brother, the brother that Castiel had secretly pulled out of Hell in order to do his and Crowley's bidding, Castiel came to the Winchesters' side at once.

He found them in the basement of Veritas' mansion, Sam bloody and bruised and Dean with a look of ultimate sadness and betrayal on his face. Castiel pressed his fingers to their foreheads and flew them to their motel room, but when he went to press his fingers to Sam's forehead to heal him, Dean stopped him.

"As terrible as he looks, he deserved it."

That should have been warning enough for Castiel. Dean didn't appreciate anyone beating on Sam, and vice versa, but when Dean was the one who put the beating on Sam, he always felt guilty about it. Always.

"You're right, he looks terrible," Castiel commented, leaning in to examine the abrasions on Sam's face as he began to come to. "You did this?" He was already 99.725 percent sure of the answer, but he needed all the facts.

Dean nodded once, arms crossed and looking for all the world like a thunderstorm personified.

Sam groaned as he opened his eyes and came to full consciousness. "Cas? Wha-?" He tugged experimentally on his bonds. "Let me go…"

"Has he been feverish?"

"Have you?" Dean barked from behind him.

"No, why?"

"Is he speaking in tongues?" It took him barely a half-glance in Dean's direction for him to know that the question would only be redirected, so Castiel did it himself. "Are you speaking in tongues?"

"No! What are you…Are you… _diagnosing_ me?" Sam asked, an incredulous look on his face.

"You better hope he can," growled Dean.

"What, you really think that this—"

"You really think that there's a clinic out there for people who just pop out of Hell wrong?" Dean abandoned his post by the door, marching closer as Castiel examined his brother.

The phrasing of Dean's question gave Castiel pause. Much to his chagrin, Castiel knew that Sam hadn't just 'popped' out of Hell. He had gone into the Cage with Crowley's help, and retrieved Sam so that they could find Purgatory and solidify their positions in their respective homes. Cas had no issue with their plan. He had wanted to pull Sam out of the Cage for as long as he'd been stuck there, but he hadn't had the power on his own. What he hadn't counted on was Sam not going to find Dean once he got 'topside'. He had hoped that the Winchesters would reunite with their Grandfather, and that the three of them would hunt the Alphas together. Crowley disagreed, claiming that Dean would only complicate matters, but Castiel knew better. Dean would not react well to knowing that his brother was above ground and nobody had bothered to tell him, nor would he like that Sam had been hunting with Samuel instead of with him. Also, Dean was loyal. To have his loyalty was to have a friend for life, no matter how badly you screwed up. If both Sam and Castiel asked him to hunt the Alphas, he would do it. Of that, Cas had no doubt. But Sam hadn't gone to Dean, and he'd told Bobby not to tell Dean, so Castiel could not go against Sam's wishes.

Which brought him back to his current conundrum. Of course, he had found it odd that Sam had not gone straight back to Dean's side when he was released from Hell, but Castiel had had more pressing matters to attend to rather than dwell upon the mystery that is Sam Winchester. Now, however, he regretted not looking into Sam's unusual behavior earlier.

"How much do you sleep?"

Sam looked confused and a little apprehensive. "I don't."

"At all?"

"Not since I got back." The suspicions were solidifying in his mind, pointing Castiel towards one big, troublesome, inevitable answer that had him quaking behind his steel mask. Not only was Sam's lack of ability to sleep a terrible symptom in and of itself, but the way he answered, and the way he said, "Of course it did, Dean. I just never told you," in such an uncaring, callous way, made the unfortunate disease that was plaguing Sam all too clear.

Castiel risked a look at Dean, long enough for the man to notice, which had Cas quickly averting his eyes. Dean knew how to read guilt on a face from 150 yards; 200 yards if the guilty party was a friend or family member.

"Sam…what are you feeling now?"

He scoffed. "I feel like my nose is broken."

"No, that's a physical sensation. How do you feel?"

" _Father, please let me be wrong. Please."_

"Wh…I think—"

" _ **Feel!**_ "

"I…don't know."

Castiel knew then that his original diagnosis was correct. Sam was walking around without a soul. That white hot glowing _thing_ inside of him that made Sam _Sam_ was missing. That thing that made him a human being was gone. Cas knew that he would have to perform a physical search for the soul, for Dean's sake at least, but he knew that Sam, while looking very much like himself, was not himself.

He screwed up. He had done so much wrong during his brief time on Earth, especially against the Winchesters, but he had rectified all of his mistakes. He had stood against his brothers and sisters and all of Heaven to stand with the Winchesters, who made him feel more like family than his own siblings had. How could he have rescued Sam from Hell without his soul? Sam was not the first person he had raised from perdition, but it had felt the same. The same battle for one damned person against the worst enemies that Hell could offer, only this time he had a demon on his side and he was fighting against his own brothers.

A demon. Crowley. It had been his spell, his _power_ that had gained them access to the Cage. His hesitance to allow Dean in on the plan. It all added up.

Castiel would do whatever it took to help Sam and Dean, so long as it would harm no one. But, for now, he had a demon problem to deal with.

* * *

 **A/N:** And, another one bites the dust. Hope you all enjoyed that. Leave me a review to let me know, and I will see you all back here on Tuesday.


	112. The Window to the Soul

**A/N:** Happy Halloween, everyone! Hope everyone has an awesome night safe from ghosts, vampires, werewolves, and demons.

Thanks to Sallyannerenee, evi1721, bagelcat1, Tomb Raider and Walking Dead, hectatess, CammieInTheMaking (x6), Bjester74, happybluebirde, shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod, and Charlie4short for the reviews. Now that we're in the one hundreds for chapter count, it amazes me that you guys have stuck with me this far (thought it really shouldn't. This is Supernatural we're talking about here). So, thanks again. From the bottom of my heart.

This chapter is tagged to 6x08, _All Dogs Go to Heaven._ Hope you all enjoy.

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

 **The Window to the Soul**

 **September 1983**

Dean sneezed, the third time in 15 minutes. The latest kindergarten concoction cold had taken him down early, leaving him at home with his mother and newborn baby brother. Not that he minded. He much preferred to be with his family than with the other kids. They were boring. Mommy was fun and silly and let him do crazy things like spill salt everywhere and jump in puddles. And Sammy was the best. He didn't do much, but he laughed a lot and liked to hold Dean's finger.

"Dean, baby, don't get too close to Sammy. You don't want to make him sick, too." Mary stood by the stove, slowly stirring the tomato and rice soup.

Dean was sitting at the table, little feet kicking rhythmically against the table leg as he drew a picture. Sam was next to him, happily banging his chubby fists against the tray of his high chair, squealing.

"I don't wanna make him sick, Momma, but I gotta see Sammy's eyes!" Dean cried, brown crayon clenched in his fist and tongue poking out between his lips.

"Why don't you take a break from coloring and eat your lunch? It'll make you feel better." Mary poured the soup into a bowl and plopped an ice cube in the middle to cool it down faster. Carrying it over, she swept Dean's crayons to one side and placed it down in front of him.

As Dean dug in, she quickly snagged his picture so he wouldn't spill on it, and took a closer look. It was obviously a drawing of their family, with the Impala taking up most of the space. She recognized John not from the black hair that was sprouting like grass from the head of the stick figure, but from the exaggerated crow's feet around his eyes and the large dots Dean had drawn on his cheeks to represent his dimples. She had long blond hair that fell almost to the ground and eyes that had been colored blue, then gray, then green, one on top of the other. Dean had gone to town drawing his own freckles, and he had chosen the brightest green for his eyes. But Sam had no eyes. The tiniest stick figure was in between Mary and Dean, holding Dean's overly-long finger. His hair was brown and shaggy, Dean's attempt at drawing the baby wisps on the infant's head. But no eyes.

"Dean, why haven't you drawn Sammy's eyes yet?"

Dean swallowed and turned to her, as serious as a four-year-old could be. "Cuz he won't let me see 'em! I wanna get 'em right!"

Mary looked over at Sam, who was staring at them as though he knew they were talking about him. His baby blues had recently started to change to a light brown, which would only get darker as he got older. Even as a baby, they were so expressive. When Mary looked at them, she saw only pure love shining back, and it was obvious from Dean's struggles that he saw the same thing.

"Well, why don't you draw his eyes in pencil first? That way we can erase them if they aren't right?"

"Yeah!" Dean moved to his knees on the kitchen chair, straining out to reach the crayons that Mary had swept just out of his reach.

"Ah, ah, ah! Finish your soup first, young man!"

"Okay, Momma…"

* * *

 **April 1990**

"De'!"

11-year-old Dean shot off the bench and scrambled over to his six-year-old brother, who was sitting under the monkey bars with tears in his eyes.

"What happened, Sammy?" Dean's eyes scanned Sam from head to toe, quickly triaging him the way he would with his father on a hunt.

"I fell!"

"Sammy, I told you not to play on the monkey bars if I'm not paying attention!"

"S-s-sorry De'…" Sam's lower lip started to quiver and Dean could see the tears welling up in pain-filled hazel eyes.

"Hey, hey! It's okay! You've still got all your legs, right?" Dean shook Sam's left leg for effect, which brought a spark of happiness to his younger brother's eyes.

"Of course I do!" Sam laughed.

"Well, then. No harm done, right?"

Sam smiled and hugged him around the waist. "Thanks, De'." He looked up at him with love and happiness shining in his eyes, and Dean again felt an unspeakable appreciation for having his baby brother in his life.

* * *

 **November 1997**

Dean emerged from the janitor's storage closet behind Amanda Heckerling, giving her one last kiss before following her to whatever class they had next. As he turned, he caught sight of his brother walking with his new dork friend, Barry.

"Yo! Sammy!" As Dean meandered after Amanda, he caught a glimpse of Sam's eyes before too many students got in between them. As per usual, his eyes were filled with love and appreciation, albeit with a touch of exasperation. He'd tried to get Dean to stop calling him Sammy, but no such luck. Dean smiled at the look, and quickened his pace to keep up with Amanda. So long as that look was in Sam's eyes, Dean knew his brother was okay.

"That's your brother with Amanda Heckerling? He's cool." Barry seemed in awe.

"Yeah, _he_ thinks so." Sam couldn't help the small smile at knowing he had the coolest brother in the school. Not because he went into the janitor's closet with the town's It girl, but because he was Sam's older brother.

* * *

 **August 2001**

"Sam, c'mon, man…"

"C'mon what? You heard him! What kind of father acts like that? I got a _full ride_ , Dean! To _Stanford_! A normal father doesn't threaten to disown his kid for getting a scholarship like that to one of the best schools in the country!"

"Well, our family isn't exactly normal," Dean chuckled, but Sam just shot him a disdain filled glare and went back to packing his meager belongs into his duffle. "Wow, tough room."

"I'm done living under his iron fist, Dean. I'm done. I'm out. I'm going." Sam zipped up his bag, shouldering it before turning to Dean and sighing. "I'm not sorry, man. I want this. I _need_ this." They stood there in the near-empty room for an awkward, silent moment before Sam sighed and shook his head. "I gotta go," he sidestepped Dean and exited the room.

Dean stood frozen in place until the slam of the front door jolted him into action. He quickly donned his leather jacket and chased his brother out into the dewy morning light.

"Sam! Slow down for a minute!"

"Dean, I gotta go! I can't miss my flight!"

"And how exactly are you gonna get to the airport, genius? You gonna walk?" Sam's sure steps faltered for half a second, giving Dean the chance to put on a burst of speed and catch up, swinging Sam around by his elbow. "I thought you Stanford boys were supposed to be smart or somethin'." Sam scowled and tried to wrench away, but Dean held fast. "Get in the car, you moron. It'll be quicker than hitchhiking."

Sam looked at him suspiciously. "You sure?"

"No," Dean responded honestly, shrugging as he did. "Just get in the damn car."

Sam smiled at him, and Dean saw relief and love and heartache and pain in his eyes as he did. "Thanks, Dean."

"Yeah, yeah, don't mention it. Seriously, please don't."

* * *

 **Present Day**

Dean was pretty good at fooling himself. He fooled himself into being okay with going to Hell, and he fooled himself into thinking he was okay when he got back. He fooled himself into being halfway to happy with Lisa and Ben, and he even tricked himself into thinking he could have Sam and the Braedons. But his greatest trick of all was fooling himself into thinking Sam was okay when he obviously wasn't. His brother had been walking around without a soul for months, and Dean had put his blinders on and convinced himself that everything was copacetic. But he should have known. Sam didn't have that look in his eyes, which meant he wasn't okay. And Dean was done with pretending otherwise.

"You're not Sam. It may be your gigantor body and maybe your brain, but it's not him. So stop pretending. You'll do us both a favour."

* * *

 **A/N:** Well, I hope you guys enjoyed that. Please drop me a line to let me know what you thought. Have a very Happy Halloween, and I shall see you all back here on Tuesday.

Oh, and a little something that I thought you guys might enjoy. I saw on Facebook a couple of tools trying to argue that Supernatural isn't about the relationships, it's about the monsters. I laughed, and then watched the SPN Family slowly disintegrate them into dust. Where do you guys fall on that argument?


	113. A Bone Deep Feeling

**A/N:** Hey gang! Hope everyone is doing okay. It's been a rough week all around, I think, but I'll keep spreading love if you guys do. Thanks to Bjester74, Tomb Raider and Walking Dead, waitingforAslan, bagelcat1, Guest, Colby's girl, hectatess, celinenaville, and shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod for the reviews. They really mean a lot to me. So, I'm updating a little early here because I'm so freaking tired that I just need to hit the hay. So I hope you'll all forgive me if I'm throwing off your schedules.

This chapter is tagged to Supernatural 6x09, _Clap Your Hands If You Believe._ Bit of an oddball episode, even by our standards, but I hope you all enjoy this.

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

 **A** **Bone** **Deep** **Feeling**

The second he heard Dean screaming, he felt a jolt, almost like he'd stuck his finger in an electrical socket. Then the jolt settled into a pit in his stomach, and it wouldn't go away no matter how many beers he chugged back. It was…weird, this sensation of _feeling_. He had memories of feeling, of course. Being sad, being happy, being angry. He knew how to replicate the emotions, enough so that he had fooled Dean for about a month, and Bobby for a hell of a lot longer. He just couldn't feel them, and, now that Dean knew he had no soul, he didn't see the point in pretending he could. Which was why the pit in his stomach was so off-putting. It felt like a physical sensation, but he knew it was rooted somewhere deep in his emotions. So, he chugged back one more beer and went out into the cornfield to try to figure out where the hell Dean had gotten to.

When he found Dean's ringing cellphone, the pit turned into a knot and lodged in his throat. Memories of Dean flashed through his mind, reminding him that Dean always answered his phone whenever Sammy needed him, and when he didn't, terrible things were happening. Like the scarecrow god from years ago. Sammy had called and Dean hadn't answered because he was about to be ritually sacrificed. Crap like that always happened when they were separated, and that, Sam surmised, was the only reason he had this ache in his bones to go and _do_ something about it.

It was like an invisible, driving force sending him step by step into the main camp of the total tool bags who thought they were experts on the unknown. The anger that overtook him when the lead jackass was giving him the run around was a total surprise. He didn't get angry. He literally was incapable of getting angry, and yet, there it was. A small surge of anger at the lack of evidence and a lack of tangible proof on how to retrieve someone once they were 'abducted'.

It didn't make sense. None of it made sense. He had just told Dean that he didn't really care about him, and it was true. He honestly didn't. When Dean got turned into a vampire, he couldn't have cared less. The cure was the last thing on his mind as he watched Dean get turned; he had only wanted the Alpha and the rest of his nest, if he could get it. Dean was just collateral damage, the brother he should have left sidelined. So, why was he spinning out about Dean being missing _now_? If anything, he should've been happy. Dean was angry with him for not being his precious little Sammy, and seemed determined to turn him into something he wasn't, so he should be happy that he didn't have someone harping at him all the time.

Yet, there he was. Standing neck-deep in a crowd of UFO enthusiasts, barking at them to find a way to rescue his brother.

Then Sparrow approached him, and he figured that Dean probably wasn't going anywhere, so why not? He had no way of getting him back at the present moment, he had no leads, and his brother was decent enough at getting himself out of trouble, so what was the harm in taking the girl back to the motel for the night, especially if it helped him work out those pesky emotions?

She was nice, not that it really mattered to him. She yammered on about UFOs and continuously offered him a shoulder to cry on over his brother's recent disappearance, but it was nice for him to be able to shove those emotions into a dark corner and be a purely physical being for a while.

And then Dean walked in the front door and that all went down the tubes. What really alarmed him was the warmth that blossomed in his chest at the sight of his brother standing there, alive and decidedly not abducted. It was like his very DNA was taking a sigh of relief, and he felt a brief flash of what he assumed was joy or happiness or some other lightweight emotion. It pissed him off a little. He didn't know what was going on with him, but he didn't like it. Emotions only slowed Sammy down, and Sam wouldn't have it.

After Sparrow left, Sam turned to his fuming brother.

"You're upset."

"I was abducted! And you were banging Patchouli!"

That hurt, and Sam hated that it did, so he tried to ease the tension. That's what Sammy always did, and it usually worked. "I didn't think she smelled that bad."

"I was abducted!" Dean shouted, and Sam held himself together so he didn't flinch.

"I was looking into it," he replied defensively. He _had_ been looking into it, but he had to get his emotions in check if he was going to look into Dean's disappearance with a clear head. He couldn't run point on the case if he felt like he was going to break apart, which seemed to be the direction something inside of him was pushing him towards.

"Looking into it? I was gone for, like, an hour!"

"An hour?"

"And most of that was walking back to town!"

"Dean, I think your watch is off. You've been gone all night."

"What? No, I haven't!" Sam showed Dean the proper time. "Four a.m.?"

"Yeah!" Time displacement. Now they were getting somewhere. With a first-hand account of what happened after someone was abducted, he finally had something to go on, some rock-solid knowledge that would help wall off those pesky emotions and allow him to do his damn job. Dean actually _was_ useful, even if it was only as bait and gathering information.

Sam began explaining to Dean what he had read about various abductions and UFOs, thankful that the knots inside of him were slowly beginning to loosen. He didn't necessarily care why they chose now to recede, but he would definitely be making sure they never happened again.

* * *

 **A/N:** So, I know some people find Soulless Sam sexy or funny, but I find him almost disturbingly interesting. Like, he can be funny, and I don't think that image of Sam doing the chin ups will ever leave my mind, but he's interesting. He says he doesn't care about Dean, yet he does go and search for him. Why? This is my attempt to untie that complicated character. I hope you all enjoyed. Drop me a line to let me know what you thought, and I'll see you all back here on Tuesday.


	114. Understanding

**A/N:** Hi guys! So, I just had my emotions wrecked by _This Is Us_. If anybody wants to chat about it, please hit me up. My emotions were so wrecked in fact, that I almost forgot to update. Luckily, I remembered eventually. You lovely readers give me the ego boost I need to get through the rest of the week. Thanks to Sallyannerenee, SammysGirl42 (x2), bagelcat1, NightReader22 (x3), Tomb Raider and Walking Dead, redlite, Charlie4short, Colby's girl, hectatess, ukkichii, and shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod for the reviews. They really mean a lot to me.

So, this chapter is tagged to 6x10, _Caged Heat._ Love this episode and, believe me when I say, I wish I could have fit Meg in here somewhere. Alas, it was not meant to be. This time. Hopefully I'll be able to fit her in there somewhere down the line. Anyway, hope you all enjoy. Drop me a line at the end to tell me what you thought.

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

 **Understanding**

"I'm not sure retrieving Sam's soul is wise."

"Wait, what? Why?"

"I want him to survive."

"What're you talkin' about?"

"Sam's soul has been locked in the Cage with Michael and Lucifer for more than a year, and they have nothing to do but take their frustrations out on him. You understand? If we try to force that mutilated thing down Sam's gullet…we have no idea what could happen. It could be catastrophic."

Sam couldn't believe the conversation he was hearing. Castiel was trying to convince his brother, who was supposed to care for him _so_ _much_ , that reuniting him with his soul was a bad idea, but Dean wasn't having any of it. Insanity? Fine. Psychic pain? Sure. Death? No big deal. Dean wanted his soul back so damn much he was willing to let him die for it. And at first, yeah, he wanted his soul back too, more for Dean's sake than for his own. He had slowly opened up to the idea that he and his brother were more connected than just by their souls and by their memories. It was a blood thing, a DNA thing, that tied them together, and it was something that wouldn't change. But finding out that his brother was willing to let him die just so that he'd be 'normal'? That hurt even poor, soulless Sam.

He could understand why his brother wanted him to have his soul back; a vague memory of Castiel talking about soulmates and shared heavens rang a bell, but he could try to be a little more compassionate and empathetic if he really worked at it, if it would keep Dean calm and with him. His brother was a damn good hunter, good in a fight, and they had fun together. He wasn't a bad guy to have around, so Sam would take measures to ensure that they remained partners, but he wouldn't risk his life for it.

He couldn't understand how Dean could be willing to risk Sam's life just to reunite him with his soul. Dean was supposed to protect him, keep him safe and alive, but he was willing to throw it all away just to put Humpty Dumpty back together again. It wasn't fair; he was trying his best to accommodate Dean's emotional needs, to be the kind of brother he could talk to, laugh with, have a beer with, and, above all, hunt with. Of course, he slipped more often than not. Laughing while Meg had a knife to his brother's throat had been bad. He could admit that. But he did do at least a half-assed attempt at looking for Dean when he had been abducted by the fairies, and when the Alphas were all attacking, he had gone looking for Dean instead of heading straight for Crowley. He thought he'd been doing better at the supportive younger brother thing. He thought that, maybe, Dean didn't mind having him around so much anymore. He thought wrong, so he walked away, hoping that his brother would come to realize that it was for the best.

* * *

"Sam, don't walk away! Sam! Sam!" Dean watched as his brother walked down to the end of the road and leaned against a road sign there. "Dammit," Dean sighed, resting his head against the glass window of the Impala. He supposed he should count his blessings that Sam hadn't just continued walking, but he couldn't. He couldn't stand when Sam walked away from him.

He was doing his best. Honestly, he was hanging on by a thread, but he was trying. The whole working with demons thing, mashed in with his brother being soulless, and sprinkled with the fact that their long dead grandfather was alive and a total douche was not sitting well in his stomach. Add in the fact that Cas was acting super sketchy, and Crowley had him by the balls over Sam's soul, and he was downright nauseated.

He had given it the old Winchester try with Sam being soulless. He had been patient and willing to accept that his brother was going to be acting different, but he couldn't. It wasn't _Sam_. It wasn't the person he knew inside and out, frontwards and backwards. It wasn't the brother he could pick out of a crowd with his eyes and ears covered. There was just no connection between them. Nothing binding them together but blood, and, if Samuel was any proof of it, blood was a pretty weak tether.

Dean had been ecstatic, overjoyed, downright thrilled that Sam was alive, but once the joy had worn off he had been left with the same aching loneliness that he had felt that whole year Sam had been in Hell. It was like he could live his life, but everything was dulled. He had been happy with Lisa and Ben, but it was a less vibrant kind of happiness. He was elated that Sam was alive, but knowing that he didn't have his soul, didn't have that part of him that made Sam _Sammy_ , made that happiness fade rather quickly.

He couldn't stand Sam being soulless any longer. He didn't really care if it was selfish, or if it wasn't his decision, he was getting Sam's soul back. He needed to know that Sam was okay, but, even more than that, he needed to know that he was the little brother he had raised. He needed Sam to be Sam, and, if the effort did kill his little brother, then at least he would die as himself, and Dean could follow knowing that they would end in the same place, because there was no way he was going back to suburgatory after having a taste of his old life, even if that taste was slightly bitter.

He knew Sam didn't understand. He didn't expect him to. He was gambling with the most precious thing he knew, even though he knew his hand was crappy. Sam with his soul wouldn't understand, so obviously the automaton that he had been trailing after would _never_ understand. Sam didn't understand why he had to do it, but Dean didn't understand how he was supposed to do anything else.

* * *

 **A/N:** And there we have it. Another chapter in the bag. Hope you all enjoyed. Please drop me a line to let me know what you thought, or to chat about _Supernatural_ or _This Is Us._ Have a good rest of the week and I will see you all back here on Tuesday.


	115. No Hesitation

**A/N:** Hi everybody! Hope everyone had a good week. Thanks to zekeschance, bagelcat1, happybluebirde (x3), SammysGirl42, Tomb Raider and Walking Dead, hectatess, Guest, and shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod for the reviews.

This chapter is tagged to 6x11, _Appointment in Samarra_. Love this episode, and I hope I did it justice.

* * *

 **No** **Hesitation**

Dean had killed for Sam before. His hands were drenched in the blood of the people who had tried to take Sam away from him, but those people had deserved it. They had hurt his brother, or tried to kill him, or had tried to take Sam away from him.

When Death asked him to take his place, he hadn't hesitated. If making a deal with Death was the only way to get Sam's soul back and make sure he didn't die in the process of being resouled, then Dean would do it. But the people he was killing were innocent. Well, most of them were, at least.

That robber had just been a dumbass. He'd said it before, he would say it until the end of his days: monsters he got. Monsters hunted by instinct, desire, confusion as to their state of being. Monsters followed patterns. Humans walked around, screwing each other because they could. Dean didn't like bullies, didn't like people who fed off the weak. The idiot who tried to knock off the convenience store was a bully, trying to take the owner's hard-earned money. Maybe he didn't necessarily deserve to die for his mistake, but he definitely got what was coming to him when the owner fought back.

The heart attack vic didn't deserve to die either, but his hands were tied. Too much cheese could do that to a man. As a heart attack survivor himself, Dean felt for the guy. Having the center of your body, the very thing tasked with keeping you alive, attack you so suddenly and painfully sucked. It was like your body suddenly betrays you, and you're helpless to stop the pain that radiates through you. He had never felt so helpless as when that bolt of electricity had torn through him, excluding when Sam had been stabbed in the back right in front of him. At least his heart attack had been in the name of the greater good. His life had been an easy sacrifice to make for those two little kids. This guy though, he had nothing. Died eating an extra cheesy pizza. There's no greater good there, no matter how great or good it may taste.

Hilary and Jolene…there was no greater good there either. A 12-year-old girl who should have had a long life ahead of her but got screwed by the natural order, and a nurse who should have had kids and grandkids, but got screwed over because he screwed with the natural order. It wasn't fair. The natural order really sucked. People who stole or lied or cheated or killed (people like him) got to live, while those innocent people (people like Mom and Sam and Jessica) died because of destiny, because one super old guy in a black suit with a penchant for cheap, greasy food had some sort of mental list of who was supposed to die and when. Tessa was right; it wasn't right that he and Sam kept coming back. Well, it wasn't right that _he_ kept coming back. The first time Sam died, it was because of demons. Then there was the jackass with the lucky coin, and Walt and Roy, and Anna, and, of course, Lucifer. None of those deaths would have happened without supernatural assistance, so it wasn't fair that Tessa thought that Sam should have stayed dead. Just like Dean knew that people killed by demons or werewolves or whatever deserved to live, because crap like that shouldn't happen to anyone, he knew that Sam deserved to live.

That's what nobody seemed to understand. Not Sam, not Tessa, not even Bobby. He was just trying to make things right. Sam deserved to live, and he knew his little brother; Sam, the real Sam, would not be okay with running around without a soul. Sam without his soul was an affront to the natural order, and he was just trying to fix it.

He just wished that fixing it didn't mean having to sacrifice Adam. Adam was another innocent who got caught up in the crap fest that was their lives, and, yes, he wanted to save him. He wanted to put his other brother back together again just as badly as he wanted to resoul Sam. Adam got pulled into a life of angels and demons and Apocalypses and monsters because some ghoul had a vendetta against their father.

Adam got dragged to Hell because his brothers had left him behind. Dean knew deep down that there was no feasible way to get to Adam after the warehouse had been wiped, especially with Cas out of commission, but he didn't care. He had left Adam with those winged douches, and left him open to being possessed by Michael by saying yes. That was on him. Hell, Adam never would have even been brought back from the dead if Dean had just bucked up and said yes to Michael in the first place. The kid could have been happily living out the rest of time in Heaven, if Dean had stopped listening to everything everyone else was saying and gone with his gut. Sam never would have gone to Hell, either. It was all on him, because he was the big brother and he was supposed to protect them. He was supposed to protect all of them.

Now, he could only protect one of them. Sam or Adam. Death made him choose between the brother he had raised from infancy and the brother he barely knew at all. He wished he could say it was a difficult decision for him to make, but the truth was, he had thrown Adam under the bus in the space of a heartbeat. It wasn't because he didn't care, because he did. Adam deserved a better fate than Hell, and it was Dean's mess to clean up, but he didn't know Adam from, well, Adam. Adam Milligan was as good as a stranger to him, whereas Sam had been attached to his hip since he was four-years-old. It wasn't fair, but a decision had to be made, and Dean would choose Sam every time, no hesitation.

* * *

 **A/N:** There's another one under my belt, and I hope you all enjoyed it. Please drop me a line and let me know what you think. Love you all, and I'll see you on Tuesday.


	116. It's Quiet Uptown

**A/N:** Greetings from an overly tired, overly emotional, overworked author everyone. Okay, maybe that was a little over-dramatic, but it stands. I hope everyone had a better week than I did. Thanks to Bjester74, Tomb Raider and Walking Dead, hectatess, shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod, Sallyannerenee, SammysGirl42, and piece2gether (x2) for making me smile with their reviews.

So, this chapter is tagged to 6x12, _Like a Virgin_.Rather than try to match the emotions of one of the most amazing brotherly hugs in the series to date, I came up with this. Hope you all enjoy. Please drop me a review to let me know.

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

 **It's** **Quiet** **Uptown**

" _There are moments that the words don't reach,_

 _There is suffering too powerful to name_

 _You hold your child as tight as you can_

 _Then push away the unimaginable_

 _The moments when you're in so deep_

 _It feels easier to just swim down_

 _And so they move uptown_

 _And learn to live with the unimaginable_ "

—Kelly Clarkson, _Quiet Uptown_

* * *

For Castiel, at least, watching Dean suffer through the sorrow and pain of Sam's death was an odd experience. Not because he found it odd that Dean was grieving for his brother, no. But because the pain his friend was feeling was so much more potent than any pain Dean had ever felt before, even in Hell. That pain had radiated, spread like a disease, turning and twisting Dean into a seasoned torturer. That pain had scabbed over fairly quickly when Dean was reunited with Sam. That pain, Castiel was surprised to find, was an easy burden for the eldest Winchester to bear. This pain was not.

Dean was standing in the garden of his new home, raking the leaves calmly, one could even say peacefully, but Castiel knew better. He knew the eldest Winchester better than most, and he could see that the foretold righteous man was but a shell of his former self.

Castiel had been watching Dean these past few weeks without Sam. He had watched him make his way to the home of Lisa Braedon and her son, Ben. He had watched as his friend dealt with the grief and pain of his loss. He watched as Dean slowly, painfully, settled into the daily routine of a suburban lifestyle, tragically interspersed with periods of depression and lethargy.

Castiel had been privileged to witness some of the greatest warriors the world had known. Genghis Khan, Julius Caesar, William Wallace, Attila the Hun, Miltiades, Joan of Arc. Brilliant strategists, incredibly strong individuals, some good and some bad. None of them cut out for the life of an ordinary citizen. Dean Winchester, though not a warrior whose tale would be studied or retold, was cut from the same cloth. Domesticity was not in his DNA.

He faked it well, of course. Castiel had watched his friend long enough to know that he had fooled many of his neighbours and 'friends', those who thought they were close, but whom Dean held at arm's length for protection. They thought he was a normal man, Dean "Best Night of Lisa's Life" Winchester, and that was all. Some sensed that something was not quite right about Dean, so they spun a tale about war and heartache and loss and post-traumatic stress to appease curious minds, but Castiel could see behind the veil.

A calm quiet replaced the steady rasp of metal against ground, bringing Castiel's attention back to his friend. Dean had a white-knuckle grip on the tip of the wooden handle of the rake, his forehead resting upon his fists, his eyes clenched shut against the onslaught of emotions that had seemingly overtaken him.

He had sacrificed so much. His life for the hunt. His soul for his brother. His brother for the world. Yet, Castiel could sense the fight still residing within him. His friend would find a way to bring his brother back some day, of that he was sure. But for now, even though Dean wasn't necessarily happy or even content, he was normal. He had the life he should have had, if angels and demons hadn't interfered in his fate from the beginning.

He had a woman that loved him, and a son that looked up to him. He had a beautiful house, an amazing car, and a steady job. But he didn't have his brother, and that made it wrong for him. He'd attempted many escapes from his life in the suburbs, but they never took.

In short, Castiel had been subjected to watching his best friend's suffering for the past six weeks, and he wished he could go to him, bring him back into the fold, work together to bring Sam back, but Castiel had bigger problems, and he could sense one of them getting closer. Dean's suffering, unfortunately, would have to wait.

* * *

"So, you never even tried, huh?"

Dean could feel Sam's inquisitive eyes boring into him, and for once he didn't mind. Sam was _back_ , and Dean was so happy he could sing. Sam looking at him like that just meant that he cared, that it was his Sammy again.

"Tried?"

"To go live a life…after. You do remember you promised that, right?"

Dean repressed a sigh. "Yeah, I remember." Of course he remembered. Keeping that promise had meant locking away who he was and what he did and almost everything about himself and his past. It meant locking away Baby, and leaving Bobby out in the cold, and not praying to Cas to take him down to Hell so he could be with his brother again. Keeping that promise had nearly killed him.

"So, why didn't you try?"

"What makes you think I didn't?"

"'Cause look at you. Look at this. You're exactly the same."

That stung a little. He'd just lived through the most difficult year of his life. Harder than when Mom died, or when Dad died, or when he got back from Hell. The year had changed him, he could feel it down in his bones. Now that Sam was actually back, he would be protecting him no matter what. Screw the world and destiny and whatever else came their way. He would not be going through that hell again. But how could he tell Sam that without cracking the wall? The answer was he couldn't.

"Yeah, you're probably right." Dean's stomach clenched, hating that he had just thrown Lisa and Ben under the bus, and knowing he couldn't discredit them like that. "I was with them for a year—Lisa and Ben."

"A year?"

Dean nodded.

"So, then what?"

Dean knew that, when Sam had made him promise to go and live an apple pie life, Sam was only trying to help. He was trying to give Dean what he thought he'd always wanted, but it was only what Sam had always wanted, while Dean had only wanted Sam, alive. His life with Lisa and Ben, though normal, hadn't been full because he hadn't had Sam.

"Didn't work out." And it never would have.

* * *

" _There are moments that the words don't reach  
There's a grace too powerful to name  
We push away what we can never understand  
We push away the unimaginable  
They are standing in the garden  
Standing there side by side  
She takes his hand…  
It's quiet uptown_"

* * *

 **A/N:** And that's that. Hope you all enjoyed. Please leave a review. Love you all and I'll see you on Tuesday.


	117. Guilt

**A/N:** Howdy everybody! First off, Happy December! Hope you're all having a good week, and a good start to the month. My week has gone so much better, and I appreciate all the good thoughts that were sent my way.

Thanks to Bjester74, Shazza, SammysGirl42, I Am A Difference Maker, Guest, Guest 2, evi1721, waitingforAslan, redlite, Tomb Raider and Walking Dead, Colby's girl, bagelcat1, Charlie4short, piece2gether, hectatess, and shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod for the reviews. Thanks to Sallyannerenee for the idea for this chapter, and for providing one of the quotes for it.

To the Guest that reviewed Chapter 57, _One Last Ride_ , I explain through the first few paragraphs that the beginning of the chapter takes place on January 24th, Dean's birthday, but that hunting the Morton house is Dean's birthday present from Sam, which is a hunt they partake in on the Leap Day.

And, finally, to Shazza. Your review truly touched me, and I wish I could reply to you personally. Thank you so much for your kind words and your faith in me. I can only hope that the future chapters will continue to earn your love, and that I can continue to live up to your expectations. Supernatural, its cast and crew, and the Family that has grown from it also changed (and saved) my life, so I loved hearing your story. This massive task I decided to undertake is draining at times, and it's your reviews that keep me going. So, thank you very much for your kindness and your support.

Now, this chapter is tagged to episode 6x13, _Unforgiven_. Not my favourite episode, but there were some really good parts, and I hope I touch on them here. Please drop me a line to let me know what you thought.

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

 **Guilt**

It was one of the hardest things he'd ever done, and that was coming from a lengthy list that including burying his brother multiple times, facing the Devil, and losing Jess. Not scratching that wall in his head made it into the Top 10 list of hardest things Sam Winchester has had to face.

He wanted to make amends for the mistakes he had made over those 18 months, but he couldn't do that if he didn't know what those mistakes were to begin with. Dean seemed pretty set on keeping him from digging too far into those missing months, and Sam didn't want to scare him worse than he already had, but he knew his brain. His brain would keep kicking at that wall until it gave him something, something he could make up for, something he could make right.

Something like not going to Dean when he got back. It was something that had been eating at his subconscious since Cas had filled him in on how he'd been acting without his soul. He hadn't gone to Dean. How could he not have gone to Dean?

" _Family only slows you down…"_

The very thought of having said that to Brenna made him sick to his stomach. Dean was his family, and he did everything _but_ slow him down. Dean only made him better, and part of Sam wondered if that was why the other Sam wanted to keep Dean around. For convenience; so that he could have a partner that wasn't weighed down by the same baggage as Samuel.

That demoted Dean from being a big brother, a kickass hunter, and a genius to just being a pawn, and it pained Sam to know that, without emotions and morals, that was all he viewed Dean as.

Of course, Dean wasn't the only one he had hurt. Brenna and Roy were only the first in a long, long line of people he knew he had to have hurt over the past 18 months. But they were strangers. He wasn't faced with those mistakes every damn day since Death had restored his soul. With Dean, he was. He had to look into his brother's eyes every day and wonder, " _What did I do to you?_ "

He knew he had allowed Dean to get turned into a vampire. He thanked god that Samuel had known about a cure, because if there hadn't been one… He let his brother get turned into a monster, all for a job. For a hunt. Not even to save people, because the vamps were all drinking donated blood, but so he could get the Alpha Vampire for Crowley. He was disgusted by his soulless self. He was disgusted by himself, because his soulless self was still a part of him. The things he had done were witnessed by his eyes, done by his hand, and thought of by his brain. So, as much as Dean could claim it wasn't his fault, or that he hadn't done those awful things, he knew he had.

Just like he knew that he had abandoned his search for Dean much too quickly when he had been abducted by fairies. He had searched, and he had an inkling that his soulless self had thought that he was doing the right thing, but he had given up after 20 minutes for a girl. He had treated Dean like the gum on the bottom of his shoe, and that wasn't going away anytime soon, not for him anyway. So, he scratched. He scratched like he had when he was 6 and had the chicken pox, and he kept scratching until something gave. Memories of Brenna and Roy and Samuel, but nothing about what he'd done to Dean so he kept scratching until suddenly, he was in Hell, with his face melting off.

Then, just like that, he was back. Back in their crappy, squatters house, lying on his back on the floor, his brother hovering over him with fear in his eyes.

"Hey, hey, hey, you with me?"

Sam attempted to say yes, put his brother's mind at ease, but all that came out was a small groan.

"Come on." Dean reached down and hauled him up, yanking on of Sam's arms around his shoulders and keeping him steady when his legs started to give out on him. "Come on, got to get you out of here."

Carrying most of his weight, Dean led him outside to the Impala and deposited him in the passenger seat.

"Alright, man. Just breathe. In and out. You're okay." Dean kept up his one-sided commentary, and it just made Sam feel even worse. "I'll be right back, okay?" Dean disappeared for a few minutes, and Sam let his eyelids droop. After everything he'd done, Dean was still there to pick him up and take care of him. Dean had faced down vampires, fairies, reborn relatives, and even Death to protect him, yet Sam couldn't even overcome being soulless to be there for his brother. And now he'd sacrificed Lisa and Ben to be there for him. Sam groaned and suddenly he felt a hand on his knee and another hand on the back of his neck. "Hey, you okay? C'mon Sammy, talk to me."

A few minutes passed before Sam pulled away from the tight hold Dean had on his neck, opting instead to lean sideways and rest his weary body against the seat of the Impala.

"I'm okay." He opened his eyes and found Dean crouched on the gravel road in front of him.

"Yeah, sure. Because having a freaking seizure is normal for you!" Dean exploded, standing and pacing a few steps away.

"Dean—"

"Was it Hell?" Sam stared him down. "Was it Hell? I freaking told you not to—"

"I know. I know you told me not to, but Dean, what would you do if you knew that there were 18 months missing of your life? You can't tell me that you wouldn't try to find out what happened!"

"If you asked me not to, yeah!"

Sam slowly shook his head, grinning wryly. "You and I both know that's not true."

Dean slunk around to the drivers side door and collapsed onto the seat. "Sam, please…I'm begging you here, man. Don't go looking for this crap!"

"Dean, I _have_ to know what I did!"

"Sam, you didn't do anything!"

"Yes, I did! The crap I did to Roy, and Brenna, and you, and countless others! I know that I hurt people, and I need to fix it!"

"Sam, _you_ didn't kill Roy, or hurt Brenna. _You_ didn't hurt me. The T-1000 did. He is not you, okay?"

Sam sat there for a moment, considering what Dean had said. He still felt like he had led to Brenna's heartbreak and Roy's death, but he knew himself. Sam knew who he was deep down. He was a little brother. He'd run from his hunter persona, and from his father, but never from his big brother. Sam, the real, souled Sam would never have let Dean go on thinking he was in Hell. He would've gone to Dean, because he knew his brother. He would've gone to Dean, if only to put him out of his guilt-ridden misery.

So, maybe it wasn't all him, but he would still make up for the mistakes he had made.

* * *

 **A/N:** Well, I hope you all enjoyed that. Please leave me a review so I know what you all thought, and I will be back on Tuesday with another chapter. Have a good night, a wonderful week, and a safe and fun weekend. Lots of love.


	118. Fathers and Sons

**A/N:** Hi everyone! Hope you all had a good week. Thanks to LunarFox96, Sallyannerenee, bagelcat1, Colby's girl, Tomb Raider and Walking Dead, Shazza, hectatess, and shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod for their kindness and their reviews. They are so much appreciated.

This chapter is tagged to 6x14, _Mannequin 3: The Reckoning._ I took a little bit of a different path with this one, I think, but I hope you all enjoy it. Please leave me a review so I know how I did.

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

 **Fathers** **and** **Sons**

School had always been rough for Ben Braedon. Being the only son of a young single mother meant that idiots were always whispering behind his back and making insinuations about his father, whoever he may be. Kids were jerks, and putting a couple hundred of them together in the same environment made them even jerkier.

The month of June was always the hardest. Even the well-meaning teachers and classmates inevitably made him feel awful when it came time to make the Father's Day arts and crafts project of the year. The teachers laying out the brightly colored construction paper would give him sympathetic looks, while the nosier students would ask " _Who are you gonna give your card to, Ben?_ " His grandfather was dead, he didn't know who his father was, and he had one uncle that he barely ever saw. Most of the Father's Day crafts he made ended up in the dumpster behind the school the second they were returned to him.

His attitude towards fathers and school in general only got worse as he got older and he began to understand some of the comments made towards his mother. They were derogatory, mean, hurtful, and completely untrue, but he couldn't do anything about it. His mother had always taught him to just keep his head down. He knew the truth, and that was all that mattered.

Ben couldn't see it that way, and he couldn't stand that he was unable to do anything about it. Unable to fight back until a young man in a worn leather jacket taught him how to fight. That man had taught him how to stand up for himself, and showed him how to tap into that side of him, that brave side of himself, that would allow him to stand up for others as well. Dean Winchester had helped change his life before he ever became a staple in it.

When Ben walked downstairs for dinner that dark May night, he'd been ecstatic to find Dean sitting there at the table, drinking a beer. His mother told him that Dean would be staying with them now, and that feeling had only gotten better. He thought Dean was the coolest person ever, and getting to hang out with him every day was awesome, even though Dean wasn't the Dean he remembered. That Dean had been quick with a joke, easy with a smile, and, basically, a total badass. This Dean…this Dean rarely laughed, and when he smiled it didn't reach his eyes. Sometimes, he had difficulty even getting out of bed. His mom tried to hide it from him, but Ben knew something was wrong with Dean. Whether it was a sickness or something to do with Sam not being around, Ben knew this wasn't the Dean who had changed his life.

So, Ben worked. He worked hard to try to help Dean. He gave him a crappy Father's Day card, and ignored the look on Dean's face when he read it because he knew it wasn't personal. He helped in the garage, and was as patient as a 12-year-old could be when Dean got that far-off look in his eyes. He tried his very best to make Dean feel like part of the family. He tried so damn hard to make him want to stay.

When Sam came back, Ben was happy because Dean was happy, and he was okay with Dean leaving to go be with Sam because that was where he belonged. Sam was part of their family too, and Ben knew how important family was to Dean. Which is why Ben was so devastated when his mom sat him down and told him that Dean wouldn't be coming around anymore. No explanation as to why he suddenly decided to ditch his family. No warning, no farewell. Nothing. He was just…gone. Ditching them. Ditching his family.

* * *

" _What do you call people who take care of you, even when you're a dick? You know you're walking out on your family, right?"_

Dean _had_ loved Lisa and Ben. He really had. Lisa was the type of woman he had only ever dreamed he could be with, and Ben was the kind of son he never thought he'd have. But sometimes, in the quiet moments when his thoughts became too loud and not even the familiar growl of the Impala or the blaring beats of a Metallica song could drown them out, he could hear the echoes of his past calling to him, screaming that he didn't deserve this, that this was something he couldn't have, couldn't keep.

Mom had tried. She was a hunter and she had tried, but she couldn't do it. She'd sold her youngest son's soul to a demon to keep the love of her life, and got burned alive as a result. She got as close as a hunter could get to getting out of the life, but it had caught up with her.

Dad and Bobby had tried too. They were soldiers; Marines. Trained for battle and hardwired to right wrongs. Bobby's wife got tangled up with a demon, and killing her had drawn him right back into the heat of battle. Mary burned alive on the ceiling, and John set out to make it right. To avenge her death, and get revenge on behalf of himself and his motherless sons, he fell right back into his old army habits and dragged his sons along with him.

Sam had come so close. Trained all his life for hunting and battling against the dark forces of the world, he had given it all up for the dream of a safe job and a girl, but the demons of his past just wouldn't let him rest. Jess had burned, and, along with her, the future he had planned.

Now, Mom was dead. Dad was dead. Sam was in Hell. His whole family had tried to escape, and had lost.

Dean didn't deserve to have this life, nor could he risk bringing the darkness of his past to their door. He had tried; tried to ignore Sam's screams for his big brother to save him from Lucifer, Mom's screams to not make the same mistakes she did, and Dad's screams about protecting his brother.

His family was dead. Lisa and Ben had grown to be a part of his family too, but he knew the consequences of getting involved with a Winchester. They were hardwired for bad luck and death.

Besides that, Sammy was back now and, if the seizure he had in that house in Bristol was any clue, he needed someone to have his back. Not one of those Campbell douchebags who didn't know his brother from a hole in the wall, but his big brother, who had always looked out for him, no matter what.

Dean's mind quieted as it focused on that one thought. Sam needed him. He loved Lisa and Ben, but Sam needed him, and that was all that mattered.

* * *

 **A/N:** So, I hope you all enjoyed that. Please drop me a review to let me know what you thought. Love you all.

P.S.: Next week is the _French Mistake_ chapter, and that's all I'm gonna say about that.


	119. Better Together

**A/N:** Hi everyone! I hope everyone is enjoying the festive spirit of the season. No matter what you believe in, if you don't believe in anything, who you are, where you're from, what you do, the spirit of the season is giving and being the best person you can possibly be. This is the last update before the holidays truly begin, so I just want to wish all of you and your families a wonderful holiday season.

Thanks to Sallyannerenee, Bjester74, SammysGirl42 (x2), waitingforAslan (x2), evi1721, Tomb Raider and Walking Dead, bagelcat1, hectatess, shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod, and LunarFox96 for their heartwarming reviews. They really mean a lot to me and help me keep going.

So, this chapter is tagged to episode 6x15, _The French Mistake._ It was inspired by my experience at TorCon 2017. The dynamic between Jared and Jensen truly screams "Big Brother/Little Brother", so I just had to add that into the most masterfully meta piece of work ever to grace any screen. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

This one is dedicated to Jared and Jensen, even though I know they'll never read it. The episode says that Jared and Jensen aren't heroes, but they are. They hunt the metaphorical demons that people deal with every day. They save people, whether it's from feeling alone or lonely, from mental health issues, from hopelessness, or from themselves. They're my heroes.

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

 **Better** **Together**

 _ **Journal Entry #16:**_

 _ **Alternate Realities—**_ _an angel named Balthazar sent us into an alternate reality where Dean and I are fictional characters in a television show called_ _ **Supernatural**_ _, based off Chuck's friggin' books. I'm played by something called a Jared Padalecki (sp?) and Dean is played by some guy named Jensen (who acted in soap operas, which I'm never going to let him live down). It is exactly as weird as it sounds. Castiel was there too, but he wasn't really Cas. He was some weird, social media obsessed, hipster looking guy who got killed by an actual angel that was hunting us. Ruby was alive there, but she was actually this totally kick-ass actress named Gen, and we were married. Like I said, it was super weird._

 _Luckily, we were able to escape by hitching a ride through the portal that the archangel Raphael opened when he was trying to retrieve his henchman Virgil, who was hunting us because he thought we had a key to some heavenly weapons. Turns out we were a diversion though. Something Cas and Balthazar cooked up to make the ruse look more convincing. Not exactly comforting, knowing that our angel friend was willing to serve us up to a couple of angry angels and risk us getting stuck in that hell hole of a reality, but the weapons are safe, the portal is closed, and we're relatively okay with everything that went down._

…

 _It's weird though, to think about those guys and the lives that they lead. The things that people around us kept saying, like how apparently these Jared and Jensen guys don't get along. It was almost like this weird glitch in the matrix. The idea that there was some universe out there where we're not best friends or partners or brothers or whatever you want to call it just doesn't make sense to me. How could these guys pretend to live through everything we've been through and not feel at least some sort of connection? How could they watch each other 'die' so many times and not be affected by it?_

 _How could Dean think I'd want to live in a world like that? He thought that I'd want to stay because there was no demon blood, no demon deals. This Jared guy seems to have a pretty decent life, with a mansion and a beautiful wife, so Dean seemed to think that I would want to stay because it was 'normal'. And yeah, the guy had a good life, but he didn't have someone like Dean. He didn't have someone who is always in his corner, even when he royally screws up or feels like he can't take it anymore. And, besides that, we don't mean the same thing over there that we do here. Here we've saved lives, changed peoples lives by protecting them and being there in their time of need. There, we're just actors who aren't friends, and I know enough to safely say that Dean and I are much better together than we are apart._

Sam shut his journal and tucked it away at the bottom of his duffle. What had originally started as a way of recording their hunts for posterity's sake had turned into Sam recording his thoughts and feelings about the various things they came up against, and how they affected his relationship with his brother. And, honestly, that part had helped him since he'd gotten his soul back. Knowing that he had done things, horrible things, to those he was supposed to be helping and to his brother, it helped to have a record of the good things he had done before that period, almost as a reference. It reminded him of who he was. Who he is. Not Jared Pada-something, but Sam Winchester.

" _And right now, Sam Winchester is supposed to be downstairs,_ " Sam chuckled to himself as he exited the room and descended the stairs. They were supposed to be fixing the window that Balthazar had thrown them through, but Sam had gotten a later start to the day than Dean and Bobby, so they were already downstairs hard at work. Or so Sam thought when he awoke to the sound of hammers, which no longer echoed through the house.

"…a _model_ , Bobby! A freaking model! And he was in _soap operas_! Who does that?"

"Must'a been good money. Don't knock it."

"Okay, but these two guys were so…I don't even know, man. The people around us always acted like they were so surprised to see us together, like those two morons weren't even friends!"

"It's not that uncommon on shows, Dean. Warring egos get in the way, especially when two people are trying to share the same small spotlight. There's not enough room, and people start fighting."

"I don't get that." Dean sounded so indignant, Sam almost laughed. He carefully skipped the creaky step and made it to the landing, following their voices to the living room and peeking cautiously around the corner. "I mean, how can you work with someone every day for years and not like them? Sam and I are together every damn day; we'd kill each other if we weren't friends! I mean, those guys were playing _brothers_! How can you play brothers and not get along? It doesn't make sense!"

Sam could hear the laughter in Bobby's voice as he replied, "Dean, you know a lot of siblings don't get along, right? Like, conversations are limited to holidays and family get togethers. You and Sam are kinda the exception."

"Exactly! How can they be playing _us_ and not like each other?" Sam purposefully stepped back onto the creaky spot on the floorboard, alerting his family to his presence. As he entered the room, he found Dean was a hammer in his hand and Bobby with a few nails between his teeth. "Hey, Sleeping Beauty! Look who decided to finally join us!"

Sam grinned ruefully and walked over to pick up the new window frame. Sure, Dean was irritating and overbearing and the biggest dork he knew, but he was _his_. His big brother. His best friend. His partner in crime. And he knew Dean felt the exact same way. That was something that those Jared and Jensen characters were missing out on: _**family**_. And Sam felt bad for them, for missing out on something so amazing and wonderful. Something that had, especially recently, saved his life on more than one occasion. No matter what reality they were in, they were always better off together than apart.

* * *

 **A/N:** So, that is where I leave you. I hope you all enjoyed. Please drop me a line to let me know what you thought. I wish you all a Merry Christmas, a Happy Hanukkah, a Blessed Kwanza, a Happy Winter Solstice, and a very merry holiday season.


	120. Extended Family

**A/N:** *sheepishly pokes head out from behind my Christmas tree* Umm, hi guys. Coming at you on a Wednesday instead of a Tuesday because holiday brain. It totally slipped my mind that yesterday was Tuesday until my brain woke me up at 5:30 this morning in a panic because I had forgotten something but I couldn't figure out what. It wasn't until I rolled out of bed and caught sight of my photo with J2 and realized that I had neglected you guys! I am so, so, so sorry! I hope you will all forgive me! And I hope you all had an excellent holiday.

Thanks to Bjester74, evi1721, Sallyannerenee (x2), lenail125, piece2gether, hectatess, bagelcat1, hollyhobbit101, LunarFox96, shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod, and Tomb Raider and Walking Dead for the wonderful reviews and holiday wishes.

This chapter is tagged to 6x16, _And Then There Were None_. Not one of my favourite episodes, even though I adore Bobby and Rufus. This chapter was also inspired by Bjester74, who requested a chapter from Gwen's perspective. So, this one's for her.

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

 **Extended Family**

The first time Gwen Campbell met Dean Winchester, she was ignorant. All she'd known were the facts. Sam's older brother, decent enough hunter, let the Devil out of the box when he became Hell's number one torturer. The cold, hard, emotionless facts.

The moment she saw him, she thought she knew everything there was to know about him. Too pretty, too _delicate_ to be a hunter, and he'd obviously gone soft. He quit the life when he thought his brother was dead, something she would never do. She was a born and bred hunter; she didn't get to quit. She didn't decide to hang up her gun and call it a day, none of them did. They fought until the very last breath they would ever take left their bodies. But this guy, this _Dean Winchester_ , thought he could give it up, and then had the balls to get angry when he found out that they had been hunting with his brother. He didn't have the right. He didn't have the right to be angry, or to tell them how to hunt. He'd given it all up, all for a girl, a boy, and a house with a cliché white picket fence.

So, sue her if she made fun of him. She teased him about the house and the magazines and his face. Point was, if he decided that he was out, he should stay out. Hunting wasn't for the weak-hearted. It wasn't for people to do as a weekend hobby, or for people who couldn't man up and do the right thing. He'd abandoned the fight when Sam had died. He betrayed them all when he decided to hang his gun up just when they needed him the most. It didn't matter what Sam said about how his brother was the best damn hunter he'd ever seen. He wasn't a hunter anymore.

The second time she met him, she was better informed. She asked around in those few weeks between meetings, and this time she paid attention to what she heard. Walt and Roy talked in whispers about how they shot both Sam and Dean dead in a motel, only to wake up the next morning to a text message from Dean warning them to stay as far away from the Winchesters as possible, unless they wanted to die a slow and painful death. Dean was the only hunter other than Bobby Singer that Rufus Turner didn't hate, and that was saying something. The way others in the hunting community whispered about Dean Winchester, like he was some sort of Bloody Mary phantom who would appear if they said his name too many times, was impressive. 'The Righteous Man', 'Hell's Number One Torturer', 'The Man Who Crawled Out of Hell'…it was all very impressive.

So, she was less than impressed when Dean wanted to protect the baby shifter. She'd heard those rumors too, of course. How Dean's best friend was an angel, how he was on a first name basis with the King of the Crossroads, how he'd let a vampire go just because she claimed to be 'vegan'. But she'd dismissed them all. When people were genuinely great at something, there were always others in the same field who sought to bring them down a notch by spreading rumors and lies, and twisting the facts in an attempt to twist their reputation. But watching Dean protect that thing, even if it was only a baby, really threw her. Where was the big badass she'd heard of, who shot first and asked questions later? Had he died with his baby brother? It was pretty disheartening to see.

The third time she had the pleasure of interacting with Dean Winchester, she was genuinely afraid of him. Not because she thought he'd kill her; no, she got the feeling that Dean Winchester wasn't the type of man to ever hurt a woman, innocent or guilty, human or monster. No, he was smarter than she thought he was. He put together Samuel's plan for the alpha monsters pretty quickly, and was able to sneak into the compound without them realizing. But, more than that, she saw a spark in him that day, something that sent a thrill down her spine.

Finally, she saw the protector she had heard so much about. The man who had electrocuted a raw-head while they were standing in the same puddle of water, just to protect two kids he didn't even know. The guy who'd sold his soul so that his brother could live. The one who was whispered about in dark alleys and the back booths of hunters' bars. They had put Sam in danger.

Now, Gwen was no fool. She knew that something was off about Sam; the way he interacted with Dean and how he was so quick to be willing to leave his brother in the dust spoke volumes to the change that had occurred in Sam. Somehow, these were not the brothers she had heard about, who would gladly sacrifice the world and everyone in it for each other. But Sam was still Sam, and Dean was still Dean, and the Campbells had put Sam in danger by working with a demon and not telling him the whole truth about the Alphas, so, woman or not, she was afraid that Dean would kill them. But he didn't. He let them go, and left Gwen wondering whether true strength came from killing ones' enemies, or from letting them go.

Her final meeting with Dean was different. For the first time, she felt like she was seeing the real him. Sam had his soul back, and Dean was almost radiating happiness. She could see the connection between the two of them. The way that Dean didn't pull the trigger on Samuel because Sam told him not to. The way Dean didn't resist when Sam pulled him away. Instead of riling his brother up, Sam sought to calm him. Instead of fighting Dean on every little detail, Sam explained his reasoning and didn't wave off Dean's abilities.

Then she found out that Samuel had been willing to let Sam and Dean die, and she found herself questioning everything they had done. What was the point of it all if not for family? Sam and Dean hadn't been with them for that long, but they were still family. Could Samuel really sell them out like that?

"Dean, is it true?"

"What?"

"Did Samuel really try to—?"

"Kill me? Yes. He didn't even blink. That's the guy you're rolling with."

"He didn't tell me anything about that. I didn't know." For some reason, she felt the need to explain herself. Again, not because she was afraid that he would hurt her, but because there was something about him, something that was telling her that, if she was not following Samuel, Dean would be the one to follow. She wanted him to trust her. She wanted to be part of his family.

"I know. Honestly, there's something I need to tell you."

"What?"

The gun went off before she could blink. She hit the ground, and, in the split second she saw him standing over her, staring at her, she knew that this wasn't Dean Winchester. This wasn't the man she had heard about, because Dean Winchester never turned his back on family, and he never quit on them either. She hadn't been family for very long, but, somehow, she felt like she had earned that.

* * *

 **A/N:** So, there we go. I hope this lived up to your expectations (and is up to standard so that y'all forgive me for updating late). Please leave me a review to let me know what you thought, even if it's just yelling at me for being late. Have a wonderful and safe New Years, and I shall see you all on the first Tuesday of 2018!


	121. Who Watches the Watcher?

**A/N:** Hi everybody, and happy 2018! I hope you all had a fun and safe New Years, and I hope you all have a wonderful coming year.

Thanks to Bjester74, Shazza (x3), bagelcat1, Guest, hectatess, Tomb Raider and Walking Dead, shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod, LunarFox96, and for the wonderful reviews, and I apologize again for missing out usual Tuesday night meeting. There will be one chapter this month that will be coming on a Monday instead of a Tuesday, and that's because I'll be out of town, but I want to make sure you guys get your chapter.

So, this chapter is tagged to 6x17, _My Heart Will Go On_. Now, while the concept for the episode is one that I love, and I adored seeing Ellen again, this wasn't one of my favourite episodes because there were so few 'bro' moments to go off of in terms of writing. Nevertheless, I hope you all enjoy. Please drop me a line to tell me what you thought.

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

 **Who Watches the Watcher?**

For all Dean considered Sam the 'girl' in their relationship, Sam didn't like to get all poetic or emotional about things. He liked logic and fact, and, just because he was more in tune with his emotions than his Neanderthal brother, that didn't mean that he ran around hugging the next of kin, sobbing over victims, or calling people "brave little soldiers". He treated cases as clinically as he possibly could; not as clinically as Robo-Sam, according to Dean, but clinically enough to not let emotions get in the way like he had before.

Despite that, he also looked at cases from every angle. When it came to ghosts and spirits, he knew that it was anger and hate that often brought them back from the dead, so he tried not to look at those cases like a hunter, and looked at them more like a human being. That made it easier to relate to them, and it made a hell of a difference when it came to identifying why the spirit was back in the first place. It was something one of his pre-law professors had taught him at Stanford. " _Criminals are all human. And humans are often driven by emotion, no matter how twisted it is."_ Most monsters were all once human too, and, though many of them now were motivated by internal instincts and fear, ghosts especially were motivated by past emotions.

Sometimes, a case would move him, but not very often. Rose and Isabel moved him; two sisters, one trying to protect the other from beyond the grave. Madison had moved him; a young person trying to live a normal life, which got ruined by supernatural forces beyond their control. Cases he could relate to, victims he could feel for. Those were what got to him.

This case had gotten to him. Weird as it was, living in a world where one singular event changed so much, it had also been heartening to see how much of an impact one person's life could have on another. Because a few hundred people had lived instead of dying, he and Dean were driving a completely different car, wearing completely different clothes, and Ellen and Jo were _alive_.

Ellen and Jo's deaths had been enormous blows to Team Free Will, as they had had the gall to call themselves back then. They had really, really shaken Dean. His big brother, who liked to take the guilt of the world and place it on his shoulders, had blamed himself. Never mind the fact that they never would have been in Carthage, Missouri if Sam had never let Lucifer out of his box. Dean always blamed himself for things that went wrong.

Dean took care of everyone, even if that meant shouldering their share of the guilt. It drove Sam crazy; knowing that his brother was likely to throw himself into the path of a monster to save a stranger was almost easy to swallow compared to knowing that his brother didn't regret his deal with the demons which led to him going to Hell, and that Dean would probably make another deal down the road if it meant saving Sam's life.

Who had ever been there for Dean in that way? It sure hadn't been John. He'd barely been around in general, never mind being there for Dean when life got rough. Bobby had tried, sure, but he wasn't always around either. Caleb had been fun, but not a parental figure, and Pastor Jim had been too religious to gain Dean's trust. And Sam? Well, Sam had spent so much of his childhood trying to run away from their lifestyle that he was sure he hadn't been there to help Dean in any way.

Besides, Dean was the big brother, and he took that title extremely seriously, meaning when it came to Sam taking care of _him_ , he wasn't having any of it. In Dean's mind, that wasn't Sam's job. Dean was adamant that he could take care of himself and Sam, as if it wasn't John's responsibility as a parent to take care of them both. It pissed Sam off to no end, knowing that his big brother would rather die than let anyone, especially Sam, take care of him. No, it didn't just piss him off because, no matter what others may say, he knew it wasn't just Dean being stubborn or stupid. It hurt him, because he knew Dean's sacrifice came from some pit inside of him that whispered that he wasn't worth being taken care of. And his brother was so worth it. Dean was worthy of being taken care of by someone who loved him.

Sam watched as Dean draped the blanket over Bobby, asleep on the couch. It was a touching moment that was a striking contrast to the guy who had been willing to shoot Fate in the face for 50,000 strangers and 2 friends he couldn't save.

They had both been tending more towards the violent side of their personalities lately, what with Dean wanting to kill their grandfather, and Sam being the one who actually did it. Sam didn't know if it was a leftover reaction from getting his soul back and Dean trying to reacclimate to hunting after a year-long retirement, or if they were both running a little hot after Rufus's death, or if it was because Cas was acting weirder than normal, or having to throw the hunting manual out when all the monsters started acting weird, but watching Dean do what he did best, taking care of the people he loved, made his heart ache.

Sam couldn't remember much of his time spent soulless with his brother. He remembered letting the vampire turn Dean, but that was about it. Because of that absence, he still felt like he missed his brother. His heart hurt knowing that Dean had been spiralling for a year, and then alone for 6 months before Sam was truly back.

Who had been watching out for Dean in that time? Sam had hoped that Lisa would do her best, but judging how Dean avoided talking about his time with her and Ben, he guessed that it didn't turn out as he had hoped. Dean had totally cut Bobby out during that time, and Cas obviously hadn't been around…so who was willing to care for the one who had held them all together? Who was watching the one who watched out for all of them?

* * *

 **A/N:** Well, I hope you all enjoyed the latest chapter! Please leave me a review to let me know what you thought, and I will see you all back here on Tuesday with another update. Much love!


	122. Damn Lucky

**A/N:** Hi everyone. Hope you all had a wonderful week. Thanks to Bjester74, Shazza, evi1721, LunarFox96, Colby's girl, hectatess, Tomb Raider and Walking Dead, bagelcat1, and shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod for the reviews on the last chapter.

This chapter is tagged to 6x18, _Frontierland_. Again, this chapter didn't give me much to go off in terms of the brother's relationship. The only thing I could find was Dean's endearing love for spaghetti Westerns, so, even though this doesn't relate completely to the episode, I hope you all enjoy the chapter. Please drop me a line to let me know what you thought.

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

 **Damn Lucky**

" _Duuuddee!_ "

"Wha'?"

"This is the _fourth_ time you've watched this movie! I'm getting sick of it!"

"Don't like it, you can go!"

"Where? There's nowhere _to go_! Dad has me on freaking motel arrest, it's a _Saturday_ , and the door to the bathroom is so thin I can still hear every word Eastwood says!"

"Not my fault this damn motel TV only has three channels! It's either Eastwood, the Christian channel, or the news, Sammy-boy."

"It's _Sam_ , and I'd rather watch the news than this stupid spaghetti western _again_!"

"You watch your damn mouth, kid. Eastwood is a god among men."

Sam huffed and sat back in his bed, valiantly trying to tune out the sounds of _Two Mules for Sister Sara_ as he studied for his biology midterm on Tuesday.

It wasn't his fault that he was whining at Dean about his entertainment choice. Honestly, he knew that, with his brother being the 19-year-old with a broken leg that he was, his choice for entertainment could be a lot worse. Plus, the whole reason Dean was laid up _and_ Sam was on motel arrest was because John blamed Sam for Dean's accident.

At least, that's how it seemed to him. He faked an illness to get out of a hunt so he could work on a group project with his friends, and Dean got got by the siren they were hunting. The siren snuck up on Dean and got the drop on him, knocking him into the pier and breaking his leg in two spots, which left Dean mopey and miserable about the failed hunt and broken leg, as well as antsy. Which, of course, meant that Sam had to stay in the motel with his brother to make sure he didn't do something stupid like try to saw the cast off before he was completely healed.

Meanwhile, John had ditched them both for some hunt in Missouri, which only served to make Dean feel guilty about his father having to work with another hunter, and Sam angry at them both. Dean for acting like a dog that kept going back to his master no matter how many times he was kicked for it, and John for treating Dean like that dog.

Okay, so maybe his whining was his fault. But he couldn't help it. The whole situation was unfair. His whole _life_ was unfair. He was being punished for being a good student, for god's sake. It wasn't his fault that Dean got hurt, or that John wasn't keeping an eye on him, or that they were hunters in the first place. Yet, he was being blamed for it, which meant he was stuck babysitting his older brother, studying for his midterm, and trying to keep up with all the housework, cooking, and schoolwork he had to complete.

He was tired, and it wasn't fair. No 15-year-old should be this tired. No 15-year-old should have to take care of his family the way he was doing.

A deep sigh interrupted his train of thought as the sounds from the television stopped with a start.

"Fine, whatever, man," Dean grumbled, settling further into his bed and pulling his pillow over his face. "If I stop breathing, don't save me."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Don't be overdramatic. Your cast comes off in six weeks. I think you can survive until then. Besides, Dad should be back in the next week or so, so you'll have four different walls to stare at instead."

"Yeah, but I still gotta stare at your ugly mug," Dean's voice was muffled through the thin pillow. Without lifting his eyes from the page, Sam lifted a hand and elegantly flipped him off. "You better put that finger down before I break it, too."

"Have to haul your ass out of bed first, gimpy."

Dean groaned, tossing the pillow aside. "At least go to the lobby and grab a car magazine or somethin', so I don't die of boredom."

"Dean, I have to study! This exam is a few days away, and I need to ace it!"

"Please, Sam? It's either that or count the friggin' ceiling tiles. Again."

"If I do, will you _promise_ to let me study?"

Dean nodded eagerly. "You won't even know I'm here, dude."

"Fine," Sam groaned. "I'll be right back."

Sam shrugged on his windbreaker and set off at a quick pace towards the motel's main building. The November wind whipped across his face, and his nose began to run.

"I swear to God, if I get sick because of my stupid brother, he's never gonna hear the end of it," Sam grumbled to himself as he rounded the corner and came face to face with a family of three. "Oh…sorry. After you."

The young mother offered him a strained smile as she attempted to juggle a 2-year-old and her luggage, while her 8-year-old son stood by, fiddling with his beat-up Walkman. "Going to spend Thanksgiving with my in-laws while my husband is deployed. And if that weren't a treat enough, now Lucy here has a nasty cold and won't stop crying." She chuckled in a self-deprecating way, and Sam felt his heart go out to her.

"Here, let me take your bags. I'm headed to the lobby anyway."

"Oh, no…I couldn't ask you to do that…"

"Please, I insist."

"Oh, well…thank you…?"

"Sam."

"Susan. This is Lucy, and that's my son, Jeffrey, over there."

"Nice to meet you."

"Mom, can we hurry up? I'm cold."

Sam watched as Susan schooled her face into a caring, motherly sort of expression instead of the pained and frustrated look that passed over her face.

"Of course, sweetie. You know, it would go a little faster if you helped." Jeffrey scoffed and began walking towards the lobby. Susan sighed, balanced Lucy on her hip, and grabbed the last bag. "Sorry about him. It's been a little difficult since his Dad deployed."

"Don't worry; I get it."

"So, are you and your family just passing through, Sam?"

The rehearsed answer spilled from his lips. "Yeah, my Dad is a travelling salesman. He's not around much."

"So, you're all by yourself?"

People like Dad and Dean would have been balking at the personal question, but Sam knew better. This wasn't a threat to call CPS or a paranormal creature trying to get intel on a hunting family. This was a concerned mother, and that was it.

"Nah, my older brother is here with me."

Susan smiled. "That must be nice."

"Yeah, Dean's cool. He's around more than my Dad is; always has been."

"He must care about you a lot."

Sam's steps faltered momentarily, thinking about all the times Dean had cared for him when he was hurt or sick versus the way he'd been taking care of Dean while he was laid up.

"Yeah…yeah, he does."

"You're very lucky, Sam."

Sam smiled as he propped the door open with his foot, allowing Susan and Lucy to enter before him. "Yeah, I guess I am."

Sam waited patiently as Susan checked in and the manager offered to help her with her bags before snagging one of the latest car magazines from the rack and making to leave. "Sam, wait!"

He turned to find Susan rifling through her purse. After a moment's pause, she retrieved a crisp twenty-dollar bill and held it out to him. Before he had a chance to shake his head, she pressed it into his hand.

"I won't take no for an answer, sweetie. Thanks for all your help. Your brother and father raised a real gentleman."

Sam smiled through his blush as he stuttered out his thanks, and left the lobby with the twenty in his jacket and the magazine under his arm.

* * *

"Jesus, where the hell did you go to get the magazine? The paper mill?" Dean griped as Sam re-entered the room.

Sam deposited the pizza box on the kitchen table along with two bottles of Coke and Dean's magazine. "Sorry, man. Just went across the street to get dinner."

Dean propped himself up and craned his neck to see the table. "Pizza? With what money?"

"Did a favor for one of the neighbors and she paid me back. Wouldn't take no for an answer," Sam shrugged. "Figured you were sick of spaghetti-O's and PB and J for dinner. Here's your magazine." Sam tossed the magazine over before sliding two slices of meat supreme pizza onto a paper plate and carrying it over.

Dean looked surprised. "All this red meat and not a veggie in sight? You feeling alright, kid?"

Sam laughed. "You want me to go and exchange it for all veggie?"

Dean took a massive bite of one of the slices. "Nope. Too late now."

Sam laughed as he carried his own plate and the bottles of soda over, and slid into bed, grabbing the remote from the bedside table.

"So, what the hell is this movie about, anyway?"

"I thought you were sick of Eastwood?"

"I kind of am, but even though I basically have the dialogue memorized, I cannot for the life of me figure out what the plot of this damn thing is."

"What about your exam?" Dean eyed him suspiciously.

"I can't focus on studying when the mysteries of this stupid movie keep bugging me. So, explain."

Dean smiled, the first real smile Sam had seen since Dean broke his leg. "Alright, so Hogan, played by Eastwood, is riding along this dirt road, right?"

Sam smiled as his brother's explanation overtook the story being told on the screen. He was pretty lucky he didn't have a big brother like Jeffrey.

* * *

 **A/N:** There's another chapter, and I hope you all enjoyed it. Please leave me a review to let me know what you thought, and I will see you all next week. Everyone have a good week!


	123. To Have A Home

**A/N:** Hi guys! I hope you all had a good week. Thanks to Shazza, DearHart, bagelcat1, lenail125, Colby's girl, hectatess, LunarFox96,shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod, and Tomb Raider and Walking Dead for the reviews. A little housekeeping before I send you into the chapter. Next week, I'll be updating on Monday night instead of Tuesday. I'll be on vacation for a week, and I want to make sure you guys get your chapter. The following week, we will be back to our regular scheduled programming.

So, this chapter is tagged to 6x19, _Mommy Dearest_. I hope you all enjoy. Please leave me a review to let me know what you thought.

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

 **To Have a Home**

Not many people could sleep in the Impala's backseat. Not that it was uncomfortable, because it was actually pretty spacious. But the squeak of the leather seats, and the pressure of the seatbelt buckle mixed together with the notion that sleeping in the car often meant sleeping on the side of a freeway, or in an abandoned parking lot, and, for many people, put them on such an edge that sleep refused to come.

It took Dean a while to learn to sleep in the car, too. He absolutely adored the Impala, but he was still haunted by the nightmare of what happened to his mother. Plus, Sam was pretty cranky about having to sleep in his car seat, so he spent most nights spent in the car crying. John was usually passed out stone cold drunk in the front seat, or not there at all, so it was on Dean to take care of his upset baby brother.

Of course, not every night was spent in the Impala. After a night of sleeping in front of the partially burnt down house, John took one of their neighbors up on the generous offer to stay in their spare bedrooms. After that, there were quite a few motels that the Winchester men passed through on their freefall through Kansas.

Then, Pastor Jim's rectory. There wasn't much space, but John rarely slept anymore, so Sam and Dean could share the small double bed in the guest bedroom. It wasn't easy, especially since Mary had instilled in Dean the fear of Sam rolling over in the night and falling out of bed (something Dean himself had been wont to do when he was younger), so Dean was awake for most of the night until Pastor Jim put up bumper rails so that the 6-year-old could get some sleep.

It wasn't home, and they weren't there for long, but it was an actual bed in an actual home with four walls and running water that was always parked in the same place.

Bobby's felt more like home. During the rare instances John would stay the night at the salvage yard, Bobby would make sure he was set up on the not-completely-comfortable couch with a " _You'd better not gripe, Winchester, or I'll make ya sleep in the yard with the dog_ " before escorting the boys to their bedroom, with two double beds instead of one, soft sheets that weren't moth-eaten, and posters of the things the boys actually liked instead of the generic scenery prints that so often decorated the walls of the motel rooms they stayed in.

It became _their_ room. A place they would always have, even if they didn't know it. Sam didn't know he had a place to go over summer and winter break at Stanford, because he didn't think Bobby would have his back after what he'd done. Dean never went back to Bobby's after John burned that bridge. Still, Bobby never changed the room. Brought in queen sized mattresses when the boys hit 6 feet, took down some of the less than tasteful posters Dean considered 'art', and stained the floors again after one of Sam's science experiments leaked and left a huge white mark on the floor, but it was still theirs, and it always would be.

Sam's apartment with Jess was also a version of home, as brief as it had been. It had been something Sam and Jess had made their own, with a picture of John and Mary on the bedside table like a normal human being, and no salt to be seen in any room other than the kitchen. Of course, it was missing some of the things that always made Sam feel at home. The smell of leather, a rumbling engine, his brother…Occasionally, even after years of being without Dean's constant presence, he'd still wake up to Jess banging around in the kitchen, and automatically begin grumbling about how his brother could never let him sleep in peace. Nightmares, especially the nightmares that began plaguing him in the early months of 2005, would leave him gasping, dripping sweat, and reaching his hand to the left, to the motel bed closest to the door where his brother always, _always_ , lay asleep.

He loved his life with Jess. He loved being at school, and having something that actually belonged to him that wasn't tainted by a dark and bloody past. But he hated that that meant he couldn't have Dean too.

After Jess died, the only place Sam could sleep was in the front seat of the Impala, his brother's steady presence beside him, the rumble of the engine, and the soothing back and forth motion the only things capable of rocking him to a restful sleep.

Sam couldn't imagine what those boys were going through. Well, he could if he tried. He'd been through quite a bit himself. But Joe and Ryan…watching your family be destroyed by monsters was rough. Being teased and taunted by the monsters, being told you were going to be their food, was rougher. But they had each other. They might have had to move to a different county, live with relatives they probably saw only once or twice a year, and they only had the clothes on their backs, but they were together.

"Hey, you should get some rest." The familiar phrase caught both Sam and Dean's attention as Joe pulled little Ryan under his arm. Ryan shut his eyes and within a few minutes was sound asleep.

Dean couldn't help but smile. How many times had he said and done the exact same thing with Sam? How many times had he drifted off himself with Sam curled up next to him?

Sam felt a wave of nostalgia wash over him as he took in the scene in the backseat. Their lives weren't perfect. They lost more people than they cared to count, their hands were almost always red with blood, and their home was never parked in the same place twice. But it was still a home, because they had each other.

* * *

 **A/N:** Well, I hope you all enjoyed. Drop me a line to tell me what you thought. Have a safe and wonderful week, and I shall see you all on Monday.


	124. Hubris

**A/N:** Hi everyone, and happy Monday. I hope you all had a good week. Thanks to SammysGirl42 (x5), piece2gether, hectatess, Tomb Raider and Walking Dead, bagelcat1, and shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod for the reviews.

I hope you all enjoy this chapter, tagged to 6x20, _The Man Who Would Be King._ It was interesting to watch this episode through Castiel's perspective, especially after having watched the rest of the seasons. Being able to look back and see how much Cas has changed was eye opening. I hope I did both Cas, and our favourite brothers, justice. Please leave a review at the end of the chapter to let me know what you thought.

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

 **Hubris**

Once upon a time, there was an angel. He wasn't the biggest or the strongest or the funniest angel in God's Heaven. He wasn't the Morning Star or Heaven's Warrior. He wasn't an archangel, one of those special angels with extra power or incredible abilities. He was just…Castiel, The Angel of Thursday. The angel dedicated to a day that was merely a result of the very human construct of time. It wasn't a great day either. It wasn't the Lord's Day, or the last day of the human work week, nor was it as horrible as the first day of the human work week. It wasn't the oddly named "Hump Day"; it was just Thursday. Average Thursday. Not only that, he had to share the honor of the day with the Norse God, Thor, who was always credited with the day when it came up in small talk or an exchange of fun facts.

That is not to say that Castiel was an average angel. No angel was average, at least, not technically. They were all blessed by their Father with extraordinary powers, such as the inability to age, the ability to heal, the ability to fly. Castiel used these powers well. He watched over his Father's creation like a sentinel, cold and unmoving as stone as the centuries passed. The little slug that slimed its way up onto the shore one night continued to grow and evolve. The monkey grew and shifted until it was standing on two feet, and then it was using tools, and then it started using sounds to communicate and seemed incredibly self-aware. Castiel watched it all unfold.

" _You just wait, Little Brother. Some schmuck is gonna think that Dad just plopped these things down on that rock fully evolved, I guarantee it._ "

And Gabriel was right. As those early humanoids evolved into human beings, they not only began to break off into different, larger groups, but they also became aware that there was something bigger than themselves at work. Of course, they all had different opinions of what that higher power was, and that caused arguments, and, later, wars. All the while, Castiel and his garrison stood guard, ensuring the success of his Father's work.

None of them saw Lucifer's betrayal coming. Of course, some of the other angels had been grumbling about having to watch the evolved monkeys putter around day after day, year after year, but none of them had ever dreamed of betraying their beloved Father by harming them. With Lucifer's fall and Gadreel's disgrace, Heaven was thrown into chaos. One day, Father was gone. The next, Gabriel. Michael shut himself off after restoring order, and Raphael became overbearing and unsympathetic to near everything. The peace was tentative and rife with tension, but it was still a peace, so Castiel willingly returned to his post, until he was called upon.

The human Dean Winchester was trapped in Hell, and the demons were planning on using him to break the First Seal that kept Lucifer trapped in Hell. Not only that, but this particular human held a greater purpose in Father's grand plan. Castiel was to descend into Lucifer's kingdom with the fiercest fighters in the garrison and retrieve him to ensure Lucifer remained in Hell where he belonged.

So, Castiel, that unremarkable angel, followed orders. He took his brothers and sisters to Hell, and watched as they fought and died so that he could grip Dean Winchester tight and raise him from perdition. He survived. He saved Dean Winchester, and, in turn, ended up saving himself.

Dean and his brother Sam were unlike all other humans Castiel had witnessed over the centuries. They were doubtful, stubborn, and seemingly set on a path to dual self-destruction. Sam was an abomination addicted to demon blood, while Dean seemed dead set on saving his brother, even at the cost of himself.

Castiel rarely understood the brothers, but he slowly came to care for them. Sam was merely a pawn, and Dean had been forced to grow up far too quickly so that he could take care of Sam. Castiel wanted to help them, because that was the task his Father had set for him. His brothers and sisters did not seem too agree. They all appeared to wish that the Apocalypse would happen, despite the knowledge that it would lead to the decimation of the human race; the people their Father had charged them with protecting.

So, Castiel defected. He fought alongside the Winchesters in a desperate, admittedly misguided attempt to save humanity. He fought against the brothers he had loved fiercely for the brothers who were members of the human race he and his Father had loved fiercely. He lost his life in the attempt, blown up by Lucifer, but still he lived, a miracle, and they won, though his life was not the only one lost.

With Sam gone, Dean cut himself off from the hunting lifestyle and from his friends. Castiel, the one who had fought and died for the Winchesters, was left alone, facing off against his angry brothers and sisters for the ruling of Heaven. Castiel didn't necessarily want to rule Heaven, but he did want to keep the Apocalypse from happening, so he did what he had to do. He brought Sam back with the King of Hell's help, and he kept it a secret from Dean. He worked closely with Crowley over the course of almost two years, and never told a soul. He did not wish to burden his friends with his decision. But, of course, his friends were Winchesters, so they figured it out on their own.

Castiel was old, thousands of years old. Yet, he had never before had a cause that he truly believed in. That is, until he met the Winchesters. They had, through their actions alone, convinced him to fall, to throw away everything his Family held dear, to protect the world and all the lost souls on it. They taught him how to stand up, what to stand for, and generally what happens when you do stand up.

So, he stood up for them. He fought off demons, angels, Raphael, Crowley. He killed his brothers and sisters, did his best to take control of Heaven, so that Sam and Dean would not be thrust back into the Apocalypse they had sacrificed so much to end.

The greatest weakness of any tragic hero is their hubris. Castiel, one of the many tragic heroes in this story, has a great deal of hubris. He allowed his pride to overshadow his logical thought, and thus began to believe that he was doing the right thing by working with Crowley. What is that human saying? " _The ends justify the means_ "? Averting the Apocalypse by working with Crowley was justified. Spying on the Winchesters to ensure they remained oblivious to their plan was justified…or so he thought.

Dean called Castiel his brother. Said he was just as much family to him as Sam and Bobby. Castiel wished he could be a brother to Dean, to do what Sam does and follow his orders willingly because Dean always knew best when it came to matters of monsters and morals. But he couldn't. His pride wouldn't allow him. This time, his centuries of experience and knowledge would have to be enough to save the world. And he would have to do it alone.

There would be no happily ever after for our tragic hero, but, perhaps, he could still put things right and be the hero of his own story.

* * *

 **A/N:** Well, I hope you all enjoyed that. Please drop me a line to let me know what you thought. I'll be out of town for the next week, so I hope you all have a wonderful week and an enjoyable weekend. I will see you all on Tuesday for our regularly scheduled programming.


	125. Intimidation Tactics

**A/N:** Hi everyone! I am back from my vacation and am totally recharged to take on season 7! I hope everyone enjoyed the last chapter, and many thanks to Bjester74, fanmygirl446, Tomb Raider and Walking Dead, DAForever62442, bagelcat1, hectatess, and shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod for the reviews.

This chapter is tagged to episode 6x21, _Let It Bleed_. I hope you all enjoy. Please review to let me know what you think.

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

 **Intimidation Tactics**

Dean Winchester is a pretty intimidating guy, to pretty much everyone.

As a kid, he was all rough edges and more freckles than common sense. After his mother passed, he hardened himself against the world, though whether that was his father's fault or his own was anybody's guess. More than one teacher was taken aback by just how closed off the child was, though they put it down to the constant moving and the absentee father who never quite seemed to make it in for parent-teacher conferences. Though his uncle seemed nice enough, it was clear to almost every adult in his life that Dean Winchester had a definite issue with connecting with other people and self-esteem.

His rebellious attitude earned him no friends within the faculty of whatever school of the week he was attending, and earned him none too few enemies within the school population. Older kids didn't like that he was cocksure and, perhaps, even arrogant. Landing in mostly hick towns with small populations, Dean wasn't exactly a fan of small town attitudes towards newcomers, and he made his views very clear, especially once his younger brother, Sam, began attending the same schools he was in. The younger kids were afraid of him, because he was intimidating and because they were often the ones who bullied young Sam for being new, different, and obviously less-well-off than the rest of the class. Kids his own age either loved him or hated him, and those attitudes followed him from childhood to young adulthood.

Puberty was kind to Dean. He quickly sprouted up to 6 foot 2, his shoulders broadened, and his father's constant, twice-daily training sessions gave him more muscle than most teenagers could dream of having. The freckles remained, giving his model-like face an air of boyishness that paired well with his oft employed boyish charm, while his killer green eyes were like something out of a fairy tale. In short, he had dozens of teenage girls, and quite a few older women, swooning over him at first sight. The ladies loved him. The teenage boys, not so much. No matter what town the Winchesters ended up in, the resident boys never took kindly to having the attention pulled away by some newbie. It didn't help that his height heightened his intimidation factor by a mile and a half or so. They hated that Dean could so quickly gain a female's attention, but many were not ballsy enough to try to change the circumstances. More than one classmate had glimpsed Dean's pocket knife outlined in his back pocket, and the 11th grade boys' gym class had a bet going as to why Dean was so often covered in scars and bruises.

Teachers continued to berate Dean's carefree attitude as he slowly slogged his way through high school, and Dean took their criticism with a razor-sharp wit and an easy smile, which only served to anger them more. All they saw was a cocky young teenager in an over-sized leather jacket who was, frankly, too good looking for his own good. They all figured he was one of those types of good looking guys who thought they could coast by on looks alone, but they couldn't be more wrong. Dean's confidence came from the impenetrable walls he had erected around himself, and nothing more.

Of course, almost everyone who was younger than Dean feared him. He was bigger, faster, stronger, and the entire sixth grade class of John Adam's Elementary School witnessed Dean pinning Stanley Morris against the wall and threatening to beat him to a pulp if he ever touched Sam again, so, of course, they were afraid of him.

But there was one child who never felt intimidated by Dean, and that was his brother Sam. Sam knew his brother was a loud-mouth dude obsessed with food, women, and his car, but he also saw the other side of Dean. He saw the Dean who stayed up with him when he was sick, and made sure they almost always had food on the table. That Dean was the one who did the dishes, and cut up hot dogs in his mac and cheese, and helped him with his homework even when Dean didn't understand a lick of what he was supposed to be helping with. That Dean wasn't intimidating. That Dean was his big brother, and his best friend.

Of course, Sam knew that his brother was the biggest and the strongest person around. He'd even witnessed Dean pinning their father in a training session once, which colored all three of them impressed. Sam knew that, if Dean wanted to, he could seriously hurt someone, including Sam. But that didn't make Sam afraid, nor did it make him feel intimidated. Instead, it made him feel safe. When they were at shady motels on their own, or on a hunt, Dean's physical strength was Sam's emotional strength. Knowing that his big brother would never let anything hurt him eased Sam's mind, even though the lesson that his invincible big brother was mortal was one that was taught frequently and painfully.

Sam never feared Dean, not truly, but he often feared for him. When Dean got back from his three-month stint in Hell, Sam was scared for him, though it was often buried deep under his (literal and metaphorical) bloodlust.

Hell changed Dean. The hopelessness and the torturing—done both to and by Dean—had altered something inside of him. His violent tendencies became unhinged and his cocksure attitude dimmed, so much so that it almost disappeared, only rearing its head in situations where Dean felt the need to prove himself. Still, Sam was never afraid of him, only _for_ him.

Standing outside the garage, listening to Dean stab away at the demons they had kidnapped, Sam was hard-pressed not to be afraid, but he kept it reined in. Now was not the time to be afraid of the brother he had never feared, not once. Now, Dean needed him more than ever. Dean was visibly regressing to his post-Hell self; the Dean who was quick with a knife and even quicker with a drink. And Sam understood, to an extent. Dean was in pure survival mode, relying on instincts that had been honed over long periods of time, including 40 years in Hell. But Sam would not— _could_ not—let that happen. He cared too much about his older brother to let him become some torturing puppet again.

So, Sam prayed. No, he begged. He begged on behalf of his brother because Sam Winchester could be intimidating too, and he would move Heaven and Hell (and apparently there wasn't much difference these days) to return not only Lisa and Ben Braedon, but also to return his brother to him.

" _Castiel, it's Sam. Um, so look...I don't know if you're in on this whole Ben-Lisa thing, but, if you have any heart whatsoever, bring 'em back to us, man. C'mon. Please, I'm begging you. I am begging you, do you understand?_ "

* * *

 **A/N:** Well, what did you think? Love it or hate it, please leave me a review so I know where I went wrong. And I will see you all back here on Tuesday. Have an awesome week!


	126. Loathing

**A/N:** Hey y'all. We're back for another update (and I know it's early, but more on that later), and I hope you all enjoy it. Thanks to shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod, fanmygirl446, CammieInTheMaking (x2), bagelcat1, and hectatess for their reviews and constant support. I don't know what's been going on with my review count the past couple of weeks (and I hate to sound like I'm complaining), but if you guys aren't enjoying as much as you used to, please let me know so I can try to fix it if something is broken.

A little personal update: I had a pretty bad accident on Monday and am laid up in bed for the foreseeable future. You guys are my family, and I could really use all the love and support you could possibly send my way. Many, many thanks to Bjester74 for emailing me while I was still in the hospital and doing everything in her power to make me feel better.

Well, we are coming up on season 7 very quickly, and it is definitely not one of my favourite seasons. If you guys have anything you want to see from this season, or anything you'd like me to touch on, please leave me a review or PM me with a request. I've got a few chapters written already, but I'm always willing to hear ideas or add things in, especially since my social calendar was just cleared for who knows how long.

This chapter is tagged to 6x22, _The Man Who Knew Too Much_ , the season six finale. I hope you all enjoy, and please leave me a review to let me know what you think.

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

 **Loathing**

" _In time we hate that which we often fear"_ ( _Anthony and Cleopatra_ , 1.3.12, William Shakespeare)

In the hunters' lifestyle, hate was typical. You had to hate something in order to kill it; at least, that's what John Winchester taught his eldest son. Hating the monsters made it easier to kill the ones that still looked human.

Dean Winchester hated many, many things in his life. He probably hated more things than he loved.

He hated the typical things people disliked, like vegetables on his pizza and calculus and homework on the weekends. He hated bullies, and he hated people who looked down on his family because of the way they lived. He hated teachers who underestimated him, and he hated motel owners who refused to cut him some slack when he was only 12 years old and his father was in the freaking hospital and they still wanted to kick them out.

Dean hated Azazel for taking their mother from them, feeding Sammy demon blood, and changing the entire course of their lives. He hated anything that wasn't one hundred percent human. His dad was right; it made it easier to kill the ones who still looked like human beings. Like his second kill, a teenage girl who got bit by a werewolf and went on a rampage in a small Rhode Island town. Knowing that she wasn't human made it easier to pull the trigger.

At times, Dean hated his father. He hated when John started training Sam to become a hunter. He hated that one Christmas, when John promised he would show up and, because he didn't, Sam found out about monsters. Dean very rarely got angry with his father, but, when he did, it was always because of Sam, and the same went with Dean's hate. It was almost always on Sam's behalf.

Most of the things Dean hated were not surprising. Every child had a rebellious streak at one point or another, so Dean's occasional hatred for his father could just be categorized as just that. Many people hated their job, and hunting was Dean's job. A lot of people hated vegetables. But there was so much more in Dean's life that he could name that he hated.

Meg. From the second she hopped into his brother's body, Dean hated her. Not only did she try to blow up his brother and his father, but she messed with Sam's mind so badly that it took weeks to convince his brother that everything was okay. Then, she killed Caleb and Pastor Jim. Their deaths still hurt, even though Dean had drifted apart from two of the men who had helped raise him. Sure, she had helped them find Crowley, but she was a demon who had screwed with the Winchesters one too many times. Dean hated her with a tempered, simmering hate that was always in the back of his mind.

Gordon. The worst part of hating Gordon was that he had allowed himself to get close to the man in the wake of his father's death, only to find that the elder hunter had duped him. It was his own fault that Gordon Walker was in their lives, and that the deranged man was able to get so close to Sam. Dean knew it was bad juju to hate the dead, but he hated Gordon so much he'd happily have the man come back as a ghost so that he got the chance to kill him.

He hated Jake too, the son of a bitch who stabbed Sam in the back to win some sort of demon uprising competition. Nobody, _nobody_ , got to hurt his little brother and get away with it. If Jake had been a decent guy, if he had upheld the freedom he was supposed to protect as a member of the armed forces, then he never would have stabbed anyone in the back, especially Sam, who had only been trying to help him. If Jake had never stabbed Sam, then Dean never would have had to go to Hell, and their lives would have been so much simpler. Dean's hate for Jake burned as bright at the fires of Hell, which Dean was all to familiar with.

Dean hated Alistair for every knife he had ever laid on him, and for every knife he'd ever handed him so that he could lay into others. He hated him for twisting and taunting him. Dean hated him for everything he'd done to him and everything he'd made him do. He hated Ruby too, for twisting Sam and making him reliant on her. He hated Ruby for the lies she told both him and Sam, about how she could save Dean from Hell. He hated her for the way she had played Sam, and made him so sick that Dean was in physical pain just hearing him come down from his demon blood high.

Dean hated Anna, and Zachariah, and Michael for the way they thought they could manipulate him and his brother. He had felt something for Anna, which made her betrayal cut so much deeper. He'd always known that Zachariah was a pompous douche, but he'd never expected the man to manipulate his younger half-brother into saying the big Yes to Michael so that the angels could play Cops and Robbers on Earth. He hated Michael for his condescension. He hated the way Michael was so sure of himself, and so sure of his hatred for his brother. He hated them all because they obviously underestimated the strength of the Winchester bond, but he hated them more because they had still done their very best to tear him and Sam apart.

For a long time, Dean hated Lucifer most of all, but, at least with the Devil, he knew what he was getting into. Dean knew all about the Founder of Hell before they met face to face. Dean expected pure evil, death, and destruction, so nothing Lucifer threw at him truly surprised the eldest Winchester. But Lucifer had led to Sam being locked away in the Cage for 180 years, so Dean's hate for the fallen angel was fiery and protective. Nobody hurt Sam on Dean's watch, and the fact that Sam had sacrificed himself so that Dean could live only stoked the fire of his rage.

Monsters Dean could deal with. He hated them because he had to. The ones he could name were just particular cases where his guard hadn't been up high enough, and he had let them slip through the cracks and get close enough to hurt them.

Despite Dean's occasional hatred for his father, he had never hated his family before. They were truly the only thing he cared about. Mom, Dad, Sam, and Bobby. Now Castiel. Over the years, the angel had earned a place in the Winchester Family, or Team Free Will, as they jokingly called themselves.

Even when Sam went to college, or when John disowned Sam, Dean never hated them, not in the same fiery, passionate way he hated the rest of the world.

"Enough! I don't care what you think! I've tried to make you understand; you won't listen! So, let me make this simple. _Please_ , go home and let me stop Raphael. I won't ask again."

It took everything inside Dean to keep from reaching out and hitting the angel in front of him. Cas was known to be idiotic, and, based on their first meeting, Dean knew Cas could be a total douche, but he'd never seen his friend so off the rails.

Dean had been down this road before with Sam, just a few years previous. Sam was so convinced that killing Lilith would solve all their problems, even though Dean was screaming at him not to. Now, a similar situation with Castiel and, still, they weren't listening to him.

"Well, good, 'cause I think you know the answer," he replied, desperate to break through to Cas and get him to see what he was doing.

Castiel slowly shook his head. "I wish it hadn't come to this. Well, rest assured. When this is all over, I will save Sam, but only if you _stand down_!"

Castiel disappeared from sight as Dean questioned, "Save Sam from what?

Less then a second later, Castiel reappeared right beside Sam, too close for Dean to do anything but watch, helplessly, as Castiel touched Sam's temple and left his little brother screaming and writhing on the concrete ground, the wall holding back Sam's memories from Hell demolished.

Dean had never hated his family before. Often, he disliked their decisions and hated the way they treated each other, but he'd never felt a bolt of hatred at the mere thought of his family. But when Castiel brought that wall tumbling down, leaving his brother a catatonic mess, Dean felt a loathing he had never felt before wash over him.

He had trusted Castiel. Castiel had been his friend. Dean had been the one to allow Cas into their lives. Dean saw him as a trusted ally, someone he could rely on to have his and Sam's backs in the face of Heaven and Hell and whatever else they came up against. The knowledge that he was wrong mixed with the fury and the hate, and left him loathing his former friend.

Dean would stop Castiel and Crowley, by any means necessary. Nobody, _nobody_ , hurt Sam on his watch.

 **A/N:** So, I know that had a little anti-Cas in it, but lets be fair. The guy did take down Sam's hell wall and break the world, so, at least from Dean's perspective, Cas deserves a little hate. Hope you all enjoyed the chapter. Please let me know what you thought, and I will see you all here on Tuesday for the first of our long journey through season 7.


	127. Out of the Woods

**A/N:** Hi everyone, and welcome back! I'd like to start by thanking all of you for the well-wishes. My leg is a mess right now, but I'm going to find out if I need surgery tomorrow, and hopefully after that I can start rehabbing it and move on with my life. I'd like to thank NightReader22 (x6), Grifter5280, arwenadreamer, piece2gether, fanmygirl446, hectatess, SammysGirl42 (x3), waitingforAslan, bagelcat1, Colby's girl, shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod, and Bjester74 (x2) for the reviews. You really know how to make a girl feel loved and special.

So, this chapter is tagged to 7x01, _Meet the New Boss_. Season 7 is, admittedly, one of my least favourite seasons, but I hope I can still do the season justice. Please let me know what you think at the end with a review.

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

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 **Out of the Woods**

 **Waterville Valley, New Hampshire—December 6th, 1993**

Dad was on a hunting trip, and he hadn't been home in a few days. It wasn't anything new. He dropped Sam and Dean off at The Valley Inn, said he'd be back when he could, that he wouldn't be coming back until the hunt was over, reminded Dean to watch out for Sam, and was gone, leaving the growl of the Impala's engine in his wake.

There was a small elementary school in the mostly-resort town, and a private school that went up to grade 12 for Dean, but John didn't bother enrolling either of them. They wouldn't be in town long, it was almost the holidays, and they had no way of getting to school with him camping out in the woods trying to hunt a damn Wendigo in the snow, which had started falling thicker and faster the second they had arrived, almost like the damn thing knew John Winchester was coming for it. But four men had gone missing since ski season had started, and John was honor-bound to stop it, which left Dean with a hyper-active 10-year-old brother locked in a motel room with only a handful of days until Christmas.

Not that Christmas was a big deal to them. Since Dean had let it slip two years previous that monsters were real, Sam didn't throw everything he had into the holiday anymore, especially considering their father was rarely around to keep the illusion of Christmas alive. Dean hadn't been one for the holiday since 1991 either, having become completely disillusioned with the whole thing since his little brother found out about monsters and his father hadn't been bothered to show up for the first time since…well, ever. But the spirit of the season had still affected Sam in the way most young people were affected, and the constant snowfall was the icing on the cake.

Sam had _begged_ Dean to let him play in the snow. They had spent their last Christmas hunting harpies in the Florida Keys, and Sam hadn't really gotten a chance to enjoy the wintry weather the previous December because of the revelation that monsters were real. So, who was Dean to refuse? If playing in the snow helped pull Sam out of whatever holiday funk he had worked himself into, then he sure as Hell wasn't going to stand in the way.

Now, he wished he had. Sam was lying in bed, face flushed with fever, wheezing with every breath he took. Half an hour outside, and now, three days later, his little brother was sicker than Dean had ever seen.

"Shh…" Dean whispered, rewetting an old dish rag and pressing it against his little brother's forehead.

"De'…" Sam whimpered through a hacking cough, weakly grabbing at Dean's wrist.

"I know, kiddo. I know." Fear had gotten a tight grip upon Dean's insides, freezing him from the inside out. He was only fourteen years old, and had almost zero clue on what was plaguing his brother, not to mention how to cure it. "Just try to sleep, bud. Bobby should be here soon."

In truth, Dean had no idea where Bobby was. He'd called his uncle a day and a half ago, and only hung up the phone when he had a promise that Bobby would be there within 24 hours. 36 hours later, still no sign of the grizzled hunter, which only put Dean's nerves even further on edge.

He'd never been home alone with a really sick Sam before. Put him up against a cold or the flu, and he could help his brother fight it off like a champ. Broken bones? An easy fix because they always had to be dealt with at the hospital (at least, that's what they told Sam. John and Dean took care of their broken bones at home). But this was something new. And it was scaring him.

So, Dean did what he knew he could. He kept pouring cough syrup down Sam's throat, kept his brother hydrated, and kept track of his temperature. He loaded all the blankets in the room onto Sam's bed when he was shivering, and sponged his forehead when he started sweating. Mostly, he sat next to Sam's bed, holding his brother's hand so he knew someone was there with him.

Dean could remember his mother doing it to him, so vague a memory that he didn't know if it was a memory or a dream. She would sit there with a cold rag in one hand, the other hand holding his hand so tightly it almost hurt. It was so comforting, just knowing that she was there. And, in Dean's mind, he owed that level of comfort to Sam. He couldn't fix this the way he could fix bullies or arguments with Dad, but he could show that he wasn't gonna leave his kid brother.

Cas breaking the Hell dam wasn't exactly the pneumonia, but it laid Sam out so badly that Dean didn't see much difference. Again, he was stuck, helpless, while his brother was up against something that Dean couldn't just punch or stab his way out of.

All he could do was fix the Impala, and hope that Sam made it far enough out of the woods that Dean could help carry him through the rest of it.

"Hey Dean."

Dean turned away from the fridge, and took a hopefully subtle mental inventory of his brother. He was vertical, but shaky, and the smile on his face was more placating than reassuring, but Dean wasn't going to put any pressure on his brother when his dam was still leaking.

"Ah, you're walkin' and talkin'."

"Yeah. I, uh, put on my own socks, the whole nine."

Not exactly reassuring, but Dean would take it. It was more of a win than anything they had gotten in the past few weeks, and Dean was practiced enough in knowing when Sam was pushing himself too hard, so he figured he'd see another breakdown coming from a mile away. But he had to be sure.

"Well, that's…uh…I mean, you, uh, you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah. My head hurts a little, but…basically."

"Seriously?"

"Look, man, I'm as surprised as you are, but, yeah. I swear." Sam's words sounded as protesting as they did earnest, so Dean decided to take a deep breath. This wasn't Robo-Sam or Demon Blood Sam. This was _his_ Sam, and he knew his brother better than anyone, so he would trust him.

"Good! No reason putting a gift horse under a microscope, right?" Dean knew his words sounded false, and he knew that Sam knew, but it didn't matter.

"Yeah!" Sam seemed just as relieved in their fake positivity, so Dean knew he had made the right choice. "So, what happened with Cas?"

"Why don't you come help me with the car, and I'll fill you in?"

"Okay."

Dean knew they weren't out of the woods yet, but at least they were together. Dean would carry Sam, and Sam would carry Dean, and they would find Cas and find a way to put him down. It wasn't anywhere near normal, or perfect, but it was better than nothing.

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 **A/N:** Well, I'm still not sure about that ending. I've had this written for about a month, and I keep trying to touch it up, but no dice. Oh well. I hope you all enjoyed. Please leave me a review to let me know what you thought. I will see you all next Tuesday!


	128. Something Next to Normal

**A/N:** Hi everyone, and welcome back. I hope you all had a good week. Thanks to Shazza, SammysGirl42, bagelcat1, hectatess, and shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod for the reviews.

This chapter is tagged to 7x02, _Hello, Cruel World._ The chapter title comes from a song called "Maybe/Next to Normal" from the Broadway musical, _next to normal_.I hope you all enjoy, and please leave a review at the end.

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

 **Something Next to Normal**

Normally, any time the Winchester boys were driving in the Impala, the silence that would inevitably grow between them was soothing. It was a silence tempered by decades of comradery, partnership, and brotherhood. On any given day, the brothers could communicate in silence. They knew how to read each others' tells, and had long since developed a silent language based on facial expressions, eye flicks, and slight finger twitches. So, a silence between them where there were no urgent messages to pass on often was just the two of them, Sam and Dean, just soaking up a few moments of calm, where they were together, they were safe, and they were home.

On the trip back from the warehouse, the silence between Sam and Dean was tense and filled with worry. Dean was scared out of his mind because of just how bad off Sam was, and it seemed like Sam was still stuck somewhere between Hell and the hell-like reality that was their lives.

In actual reality, Sam had successfully shut Lucifer up for five minutes, with Dean's help. Pressing on the deep cut on his hand had worked, even if it had hurt. Now, he was left with the echoing emptiness in his mind, the void that spoke of Lucifer's presence, even when he wasn't around. Sam was left with only his thoughts, and, for once, he found them more terrifying than Lucifer.

What if he never got better?

What if Lucifer would always be haunting him?

What if he had to live with the image of Lucifer stabbing Dean for the rest of his life?

What if he could never trust himself again? What if he could never trust _Dean_ again?

Sam didn't fancy living the rest of his life half wondering whether it was all a really creative method of torture.

" _Make Dean stone number one. Make Dean stone number one."_ Sam thought to himself, repeating it over and over again like a mantra. Dean had been there for Sam since Day One, and Sam knew that if there was anyone in this world that he could depend on in the midst of a crisis, it was Dean.

Dean knew Sam. Dean knew Sam better than he knew himself. Dean would make sure Sam was okay. That was what Dean did. He put his life on the line to make sure Sam was okay, and Sam had no doubt in his addled mind that his big brother would continue to do so.

Sam didn't always appreciate the things that his brother did or sacrificed for him, but, in the face of this potentially life altering event, Sam would try to appreciate Dean more.

Speaking of…

"You never talk about it…" Sam said quietly.

"About what?"

Sam swallowed. "Hell. After you told me what…what you were forced to do…you never really talked about it."

"Yeah, well, you're one to talk, Sam. You didn't tell me that Lucifer was still banging around in your brain."

"It's not the same thing, Dean. The Wall in my head just came crashing down, like, a week ago, and Lucifer only started taunting me a few days ago. You went to Hell years ago."

"Yeah, and who would want to relive that kind of crap?" Dean scoffed. "It happened years ago. I'm over it. Time to move on."

"Can you?" The words escaped Sam's mouth before he could stop them.

"Can I what?"

"Can you move on? From Hell."

Dean sighed a deep, aching sort of sigh that spoke of exhaustion and sadness and pain. "I don't know, man."

Sam slunk back in his seat, his head rolling tiredly to face the window. It wasn't exactly the answer he was hoping for, but it was the one he expected. Dean had become a different person since his time in Hell. Not better, not worse, just different. He was still Sam's big brother, though, and that was all that mattered. Everything else could be dealt with. He just hoped the same could be said for himself.

Dean had spent 40 years in the Pit. Sam had spent 180 years in Lucifer's Cage with two angry archangels and a scared witless half-brother. Not that there was any comparison. Dean had been physically and mentally tortured every day for 30 years before breaking and doing the torturing for ten. Dean had broken the First Seal, and Sam knew that his brother had never forgiven himself for that, not really. Sam had freed Lucifer, so he was the one who had to put him back where he belonged.

Needless to say, they had both endured more than their fair share of torture and pain, and there was no fair comparison between them. But Sam could see that Dean had done his best to put those 40 years behind him. They'd never truly go away, but Dean had somehow fought through the worst of it. Sam was relying on his big brother's expertise on how to push through and become a fully functional human being again.

Sam knew that some of Dean's coping methods tended to be on the less than savory side, but, facing down a lifetime of Lucifer hallucinations, Sam was willing to try anything.

"All I know is this…" Dean started, his voice void of the usual gruffness, and Sam knew that, given any other circumstances, Dean would be counting down the ways he would make Sam pay for having a chick-flick moment. "It ain't an easy fix, man. But focusing on somethin'll help. Throw yourself into this Levithan crap fest, and let Lucifer amuse himself. Eventually, you'll forget he's even there." Sam nodded, contemplating the advice for a moment. "Oh, and don't friggin' lie to me again. I don't care if you're seeing Lucifer in drag doin' the hula. If that dick of a hallucination gets too much for you, tell me. Don't bury it. That ain't gonna do you any good."

Sam smiled. It didn't take a translator to tell him what Dean was saying. They were on the same page.

"You don't think that's a little hypocritical, dude?" Sam sassed, a small smirk on his face.

Dean shot him a look, half grateful that the chick flick moment was over and half long-suffering older brother.

"Hey, you know it's 'do as I say, not as I do', right?"

"Well, that leaves a lot of things that I can't do then, doesn't it?"

"Shaddup," Dean grumbled, reaching down to crank up the heat and the music.

Sam smiled and allowed his head to fall back against the leather of the Impala's seat. His life wasn't normal. He'd accepted that when he was 12. It would never be normal. He'd accepted that when he was 22. Now, with the Hell Wall torn to shreds, Lucifer taunting him, Cas gone, and Levithan roaming the earth, Sam was so far past normal he couldn't even define the word. But, so long as he had Dean, maybe something just next to normal would be okay.

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 **A/N:** I hope you all enjoyed. Please leave me a review to let me know what you thought. I will see you all again on Tuesday.


	129. For the Love of Family, Part 2

**A/N:** Hi everyone, I hope you had a good week. Thanks to Colby's girl, hectatess, shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod, SammysGirl42, piece2gether for the reviews.

This chapter is tagged to episode 7x03, _Girl Next Door_. Not my favourite episode, mostly because I hate seeing the boys lie to each other, but I hope this chapter is good. Please leave me a review to let me know what you think. Also, this chapter is kind of a follow up to Chapter 97, so if you want to go back and read that you can, but it's not important.

 **A/N:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

 **For the Love of Family, Part 2**

How many times had they been down this road? God damn freaking Ruby, Crowley, basically every angel they had ever met (Cas included). Monsters were monsters, plain and simple. They didn't change. Even Lenore had fallen off the cow truck and fed on long pig. What made this chick so different from every other monster they've let go that came back to bite them (sometimes literally) in the ass?

Ruby had been playing Sam for two years.

Crowley bought up Bobby's soul and didn't give it back until the death threats became literal.

Zachariah. Uriel. Anna. Gabriel (although that last one was a little bit more complicated).

Castiel and his whole soul-vacuum routine that led to the Leviathans being freed. And bringing Sam's Hell-wall down. And not standing the hell down when Dean told him to.

Lenore had tried and failed to keep on her not-so-vegan diet.

Even Gordon had kept coming despite consistently getting his ass kicked.

What made Amy Pond any different? Sure, she could make a semi-amusing Doctor Who joke, and had a kid, and had saved Sam from her mother, but why did that buy her a lifetime Get Out of Jail Free card?

Ruby had saved their asses on more than one occasion, but she had still been the number one bitch factor in kick starting the apocalypse. Sam had fallen for her tricks hook, line, and sinker.

Crowley had pulled them out of a tight spot or two, but always with conditions, and now, what with his teaming up with Castiel to buy up all the souls in Purgatory, he was definitely up there on their Most Wanted List.

Anna had been their friend, who had then gone back in time to try to kill Sam so that he couldn't be Lucifer's vessel. They had helped her rediscover who she truly was, had fought to protect her. Dean had even slept with her, for Christ's sake. But she had still turned around and pulled the whole douchey angel routine.

Cas had been their friend. He had been their partner; a part of Team Free Will. He had gotten in over his head, and hadn't reached out. He teamed up with Crowley, tore down Sam's Hell wall like it was nothing, and then went out and wrecked the world.

Honestly, Dean barely had the energy to be pissed. He was too exhausted. He had to try to keep his Beautiful Mind brother from falling apart. He had to find out what the Hell these Leviathan really were and how to stop them. He didn't have time to be pissed at their stupidly arrogant former friend who had gone and gotten himself melted into a puddle of black goo. He didn't have time to mourn Cas, or be angry at him, or to even try to find a way to bring him back.

He definitely didn't have time for his brother's stupid sentimental bull crap about the freaking kitsune either. Dean was sick and tired of letting the monsters walk all over them.

That was the mentality he was in when he decided to ditch Sam and go after Amy. It wasn't that he didn't trust Sam. On any given day, Sam was about the only person in the crap filled universe that he did trust. And nothing short of Lucifer and the Apocalypse could change that.

But their batting average when it came to friendly monsters who didn't end up stabbing them in the back was a whopping goose egg, and Sam's judgement was always the one who got them into trouble. He trusted them too much. And, yeah, Dean occasionally found himself trusting the monsters too, but he always knew what he was getting into. He knew Crowley would throw them to the wolves eventually. He knew Cas would fall back into his high and mighty routine when things got rough. Sam always seemed to be blind when it came to the monsters, because he saw himself in them and thought they could be saved.

But Dean knew he was a monster. And he knew monsters didn't deserve to be saved.

Not Ruby. Not Anna. Not Crowley. Not even Cas. And if their friendly neighborhood angel didn't get a pass, neither did Amy Pond.

She wasn't the first pretty monster that Sam had fallen for. It wasn't her fault, and, if it was five years ago, maybe Dean would have given her a pass. She had a kid to look after, and Dean knew what kinds of things a parent would do to protect their kid from everything they could. She'd killed for her kid. Dean had done a hell of a lot worse for his kid. He couldn't fault her for that, but he could fault her for saying it would never happen again, because he knew it wasn't true. The second the kid took sick again, or was in danger, or some other hunter came snooping around, she'd kill again. He knew, because it was what he would do. It was what he had done. Multiple times. But it didn't change anything.

"I'm sorry," Dean murmured as he caught Amy's lifeless body and lowered her to the bed. He quickly retrieved his blade and wiped it clean, before turning and coming face to face with a ten-year-old boy. Amy's son. At least she hadn't been lying about that.

"You got someone you can go to?" The boy nodded. "You ever kill anyone?" He shook his head, and Dean exhaled a small sigh of relief. He didn't know if he had it in him to kill anyone else today. It was already weighing on his conscience that he kept his plan from Sam. "Well, if you do, I'll come back for you," Dean explained. He didn't want to kill the kid. If he kept his nose clean and followed his mother's example, there was no reason to.

"The only person I'm gonna kill is you."

Dean nodded thoughtfully. "Well, look me up in a few years. Assuming I live that long."

Dean quickly exited the building, knowing that the kid wasn't bluffing. And when he did come looking for Dean, he would accept it. Hell, he'd probably greet the kid like an old friend and just let him kill him. Dean made the call to kill Amy. He did it to protect Sam, and to protect their family from any more heartbreaking crap. It would come back and bite him in the ass; it always did. But, as always, he did what he did for family.

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 **A/N:** Thanks for reading, you guys, and please leave a review. I'll see you all back here on Tuesday. Have a good and safe week.


	130. Lawyered

**A/N:** Hi everyone and Happy March! I hope you all had a good week. I'm doing a little better, but healing is definitely going to be a process. I appreciate all the positive thoughts and energy you guys have been sending me. Thanks especially to SammysGirl42, Bjester74, Tomb Raider and Walking Dead (x5), bagelcat1 (x2), and shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod for the wonderful reviews.

This chapter is dedicated to bagelcat1, whose amazing idea was the basis for this chapter. This chapter is tagged to 7x04, _Defending Your Life_.

 **A/N:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

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 **Lawyered**

Sam sat in the library, studying for his history final, but his mind continuously wandered to the paperwork sitting in his bag. He only had one day left to make his decision, and he had no idea what to do. There was too much pressure. One little decision would mark the course of the rest of his life.

"Hey bro," Sam looked up as the familiar man punched him lightly on the arm and sat down across the table from him, kicking his boots up on the chair next to him. He slurped loudly from the Coke can he had in his hand before sighing obnoxiously loud.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Dude, you are _so_ irritating."

His companion belched loudly, smirking as the librarian poked her head up to shush him.

"Then why do you put up with me?"

Sam grinned a little. "Someone has to."

"Ouch, Sammy. You wound me." Sam's companion pressed his hand to his chest dramatically, laughing as he did, but Sam had frozen, their friendly banter ruined by that one phrase.

"It's _Sam_ , Brady. I told you that."

This time it was Brady's turn to roll his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Your big bro is the only one allowed to call you Sammy." He winced a little as he rubbed his hand across his neck, remembering Sam's uncharacteristically violent drunken response to the moniker. "Sorry," he mumbled, not wanting a repeat performance.

Sam felt his heart sink. It wasn't Brady's fault that the whole 'Sammy' thing bugged him. Almost eight months away from Dean hadn't been the cakewalk he thought it would be. In all of his wildest dreams about being free from the hunting life, he never anticipated how difficult it would be to leave his brother behind. Now, eight months of separation and only a few phone calls in between, and Sam could feel himself on edge.

"Nah, man. I'm sorry. It's this whole major thing that's bugging me, and it's been pushing me to the limit."

Brady shrugged, his at-ease façade easily falling back into place. "So, talk it out. What are three things you can see yourself doing in the future?"

Sam snapped his textbook closed with a dull _thud_ and folded his elbows on top of it. "I don't know, man. I've never really had any options laid out in front of me before."

"Well, c'mon, dude! Think about it! What did baby Samm…" Brady caught himself at the last second, humming as Sam shot him a look. "What did baby _Sam_ want to do when he grew up?"

Sam sat back in his seat and closed his eyes for a moment, thinking back. Sam had spent every waking moment since he was eight years old afraid that he would wake up one day and be an old man, still hunting. But in those brief years, where Dean had hidden him from the truth, there had been a few things he had actually wanted out of his life.

He had wanted to help people. That was never the issue. It was the blood and the death that consumed the hunting lifestyle like a dense fog, consuming everything in its path, that had been the problem.

He had wanted to protect his brother. No matter how angry he got at John, his father always seemed indestructible. But Dean was a different story. His brother always seemed to get injured. Head injuries, broken bones, blood loss. His brother's skin was a roadmap of scars and scrapes collected over a decade of hunting.

He wanted to be the smartest person in the room. It was vain, and stupid, but it was something he was used to. Despite, or, perhaps, because of, all the moving around he did as a kid, Sam always felt the need to prove himself academically. He could get picked on for being the new kid, or for his clothes, or because he didn't have the coolest new gadgets, but he was the smartest person in most of his classes, and that was his way to fight back.

If there was some sort of career out there that could combine all three of his desires, that would be something he would be interested in.

Sam reached for his bag and pulled out the list of majors offered by Stanford. He had gone into his first year of college undecided, and now that he had to choose, he was unsure of what he wanted to do. For the first time in his life, the world was his oyster, but he had no idea what to do with the pearl inside!

Anthropology and Archaeology. Economics. History. Linguistics (Lord knows he had enough experience with ancient languages). Pre-Law.

Sam felt his heart lift in his chest for the first time in eight months. If he could become a lawyer, then he would be able to do everything he'd ever wanted. He could help people, innocent people. He could even protect hunters who were caught doing illegal things to protect victims. And hell, he'd basically grown up arguing with his father, so his debate skills were razor sharp.

Plus, and he hated himself for thinking it, he could just see himself as a public defender, sitting in his office when a file with the name Winchester, Dean would come sliding across his desk. He could help Dean, and maybe, just maybe, that would be the push to let Dean know that a normal life actually was in the realm of possibility for them.

"Law," Sam stated, a tone of finality in his voice. "I'm gonna be a lawyer."

Brady smirked. "Aw, hell yeah. Sam Winchester, attorney at law!" Brady reached across the table and tapped his Coke can against Sam's coffee cup, chugging back the rest of it. Sam reached out, picked up the lukewarm coffee, and took a sip, glad that his future was finally planned out.

* * *

Sam had always imagined himself defending the innocent, surrounded by people in suits and ties, with a well-respected judge sitting at the podium at the front of the courtroom. He'd never in his wildest dreams imagined that he would be defending his older brother in an old, decrypt apple farm against an ancient Egyptian god who played judge, jury, and executioner.

"So, where the hell did that come from, volunteering to defend me?" Dean asked, staring out over the river with a beer in his hand.

Sam shrugged. "He was gonna kick me out."

Sam wasn't about to allow his older brother to face down an executioner alone, not when Sam could do something to save him. Plus, it was a way to live out those dreams of being normal, at least once. To see if being a lawyer was all it was cracked up to be. To save his brother in a more conventional way. To do for Dean what he had done for Sam more times than he could count. To fight for Dean as hard as Dean had always fought for Sam.

* * *

 **A/N:** Hope you guys enjoyed that. I honestly have no idea how the American post-secondary system works, so I hope I did okay. Please review and let me know what you thought. I will see you all next week. Have a good week!


	131. Lodestone

**A/N:** Hey everyone, and welcome back. Just a quick update: I'm back at work, and going to physiotherapy twice a week to try to get back to normal. Thanks for all the positive vibes. I really appreciate it. Thanks to redlite (x4), Fanmygirl446, bagelcat1, Tomb Raider and Walking Dead, Colby's girl, hectatess, Sammysgirl42, shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod, and celinenaville for the reviews.

This chapter is tagged to 7x05, _Shut Up, Dr. Phil_. I struggled with this one a little, but I hope you all enjoy.

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

 **Lodestone**

" _Dean…Dean!_ "

Dean jerked awake, quickly noticing his four-year-old brother staring at him from across the backseat of the Impala.

Dean groaned, throwing his arm across his eyes. John had left them in the car a few hours ago, claiming he would be right back, but Dean knew better. His dad was hunting a pack of werewolves, and it was the last day of the full moon, so he'd be out for as long as it took. Of course, that meant that he was on Sammy duty until he got back, which he normally didn't mind, except that Sam was starting to become suspicious of how often they slept in the car.

"What do you want, Sam?"

" _I'm scared_ …" Sam whispered, curled up in the corner of the seat, knees pulled up under his chin.

"Of what?" Dean watched as Sam cast his sad eyes around at the pitch black that had surrounded them. "Sam, the dark isn't gonna hurt you. I keep telling you that."

" _But…but what if Dad doesn't come back?_ " Sam whispered, his eyes beginning to fill with tears.

Dean sighed. He knew that Sam didn't know what Dad did, but for some reason, being left behind always kinda freaked his little brother out.

Using all the bravado a nine-year-old could muster, Dean smiled at Sam, cuffing him lightly on the shoulder. "C'mon, dude! You think I'd let anything happen to you if Dad didn't come back?"

Sam giggled. "No, but—"

"But nothin'! Dad'll come back in a sec, and I'll be right here until he does."

Sam smiled sleepily and laid his head back down on the thin pillow beneath him. "'kay De'," he yawned, his eyes slipping closed.

Dean waited until Sam's breathing evened out before sitting up and pulling the pistol out from underneath the holey blanket that was passing for his pillow. He wouldn't let anything happen to Sam, and he wished he could tell Sam the truth, but he couldn't. It would only scare him.

* * *

"Batman or Superman?"

Dean looked up from the car magazine he was reading. "What?"

"Who's your favourite? Batman or Superman?"

"Why?"

"Why not?"

"I think those pain meds are messing with your head, bro."

Sam shrugged as best as he could with one arm in a sling and a cast. "You still didn't answer the question."

"I think you know Batman's my favourite, man."

"Then why were you dressed up as Superman?"

"Because Superman can fly, and I wanted to jump off the roof of the shed!" Dean ignored the small spark of guilt that ran through him at the memory. _He_ had wanted to jump off the roof, and now Sam had a broken arm.

"But you always say that you're Batman!"

"Batman can't fly!"

"Then why do you always say that you're Batman!?"

Dean and Sam stared at each other from across the small motel room. Suddenly, Sam started to giggle. Dean could only continue staring as his little brother's laughter grew more and more contagious, until he too began laughing, head tossed back and unable to breathe.

"I told you, dude!" Dean chuckled, rubbing the tears from his eyes. "Those pain meds are messing with your brain!"

"At least I have a brain!" Sam giggled, eyes wide with false innocence.

"Oh, now you're gonna get it!" Dean growled, launching himself onto his brother's bed and tickling his ribs.

"No, De'!" Sam cried, laughing hysterically as he was unable to get away, weighed down by his cast. Dean tickled his brother until Sam was red in the face, then he collapsed beside his brother on the bed. Sam caught his breath for a moment, then rolled his head to look at Dean. "It wasn't your fault, y'know."

"Hmm?"

"My arm. It's not your fault."

Dean looked down and smiled, not buying it for a second but not about to get into an argument over it. He smiled, shoving his brother in the shoulder before standing up. "You hungry?"

* * *

"Quick question. How do you talk to girls?"

"What!?" Of all the things his precocious younger brother could ask, Dean definitely did not expect to hear that. Of course, he teased Sam all the time about girls and school and being too nerdy for even the nerdy chicks to like, but it was all just part of being a big brother.

"C'mon, Dean. _Please_ don't make a big deal out of this…"

"Aww, he's so cute when he's embarrassed!" Dean chuckled, just imagining the way Sam would turn red and roll his eyes.

"You know what? Never mind."

"Sam, wait! Who is she?"

"Um…I don't know her name yet. But she's here at the library and she's really cute."

"Okay, so odds are she's a geek like you. I mean, who spends Saturday at the library anyway?"

"Dean—"

"Look, little brother. If she's a dork like you, then she's already probably 75 percent into you. So just go and say hi. Be polite, be honest."

"Really? _That's_ your big secret? You always made it sound like it was hard!"

Dean chuckled. Of course, it was hard for him to find a girl who wasn't in it for the 'bad boy' appeal or who liked him just for his looks. He always attracted the ones who were a little off their rockers, wanting to prove how grown up they were by dating the unattainable drifter with more scars than common sense when it came to women. But he couldn't tell Sam that. He had a reputation to uphold.

"Well, I could tell you all my secrets, but I don't think you're ready for the master class yet, Sammy boy."

"You're the worst."

"And yet, you still asked."

"I hate you."

"No, you don't!" Dean laughed as he hung up the phone. It was just too easy, riling his brother up like that.

* * *

Neither of the Winchesters were exactly what you could call conversationalists. At least, they weren't that way with each other. Whether it was because of their upbringing or because the twenty plus years of being together had left them with the most basic and non-verbal shorthand on Earth, was anybody's guess. They called each other bitch and jerk as terms of endearment. They could get their meanings across with the least number of syllables possible, and, with the exception of their post-Hell conversation on that dirt road, they very rarely got to the root of their problems through talking it out.

Sam tried his best. Of the two, he was the one more inclined to meaningful conversation. When things went south in a worse way than usual, he was the one who would try to get Dean to open up and talk about it. Since the Leviathan were freed and Cas had gone psycho, Dean had been more shut up than usual, and Sam missed their conversations. He missed being able to talk to his brother about everything and anything that came to mind. Their car rides used to be half classic music, half shooting the breeze. Now they were as silent as a recently salted and burned grave.

Sam missed his brother. He wasn't sure what had happened to cause this sudden crack in their relationship, but he wanted to fix it. He wanted his brother back.

"Hey, were you, um, listening to the Starks tonight?" Sam asked hesitantly.

"Uh, a little. When I wasn't getting slammed into a wall or stung by bees."

"You notice how they, uh…you know, how they—how they opened up, got everything off their chest?"

Dean chuckled. "Yeah. Kudos on selling 'em that crap."

Sam shook his head. "It wasn't crap, Dean. It worked."

Dean's face fell, and Sam internally flinched. He knew this conversation was going to be tough, but he wanted his brother back, even if it meant pissing him off enough to let it all out.

"Sam, I am so very, very, very, very…very, very tired—"

"Dean, like it or not, the stuff you don't talk about doesn't just go away. It builds up, like whatever's eating at you right now." And that was what Sam was most afraid of. He'd come to terms early in life that Dean could be one scary dude when he wanted to be, but he'd never been scared of his brother. The only times Dean scared him were when he let things bottle up too much, because that would inevitably lead into a downward spiral of blame, guilt, self-doubt, and a dangerously overconfident big brother. Sam didn't like watching his brother go through any of that, and he wanted to help. That was all he ever wanted.

"There's always something eating at me! That's who I am! Something happens, I feel responsible, alright? The Lindbergh Baby? That's on me. Unemployment? My bad!"

"That's not what I'm talking about!" Sam pled.

"Well, then what the hell are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about whatever you're not telling me about. Look, Dean. It's fine. You can unload. That's kind of what I'm here for." Sam stared pleadingly at his brother from across the car. He needed Dean to be okay. He didn't care about the Leviathan or the fact that Cas was seemingly gone. Dean was his stone number one, and Sam needed him to be steady. More than that, Sam wanted to be there for Dean, to repay him for all the work he had done in the past year caring for him. "I mean…we're good, right?"

Dean looked back at him, stone-faced. "We're good."

Dean got into the car and closed the door, leaving Sam to stare at the place where he had been standing, crestfallen. Part of him was happy to know that it wasn't anything he had done, necessarily. He had been worried that Dean still held the whole Amy thing against him, so he was happy to know that his brother didn't blame him for letting her go. But the other part of him was worried, because he knew that something was eating at Dean, and that it was making his brother a little unsteady.

Sam hated to admit it, but in the face of his Lucifer hallucinations, he had come to rely on Dean more than he ever had. He'd always needed his brother, but now it was different. Dean was stone number one, the lodestone that was holding up his entire life. If Dean crumbled over whatever he was holding in, Sam knew that it would mark the end of the both of them.

* * *

 **A/N:** And there's another one in the can. I hope you all enjoyed. Please leave me a review so I know what you thought. I will see you all back here on Tuesday. Have a good week!


	132. Sam and Dean's Best Girl

**A/N:** Hi everyone, and welcome back. Oh, and Happy Spring! I hope you all had a wonderful and healthy week and weekend. Thanks to NightReader22 (x4), SammysGirl42, Tomb Raider and Walking Dead, Charlie4short, bagelcat1, shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod, Colby's girl, and hectatess for the reviews. I really appreciate both the kind words and the positive vibes.

So, this chapter is tagged to 7x06, _Slash Fiction._ That's all I'm going to say about that.

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

 **Sam and Dean's Best Girl**

" _On April 21, 1967, the 100 millionth GM vehicle rolled off the line at the plant in Janesville—a blue, two-door Caprice._

 _There was a big ceremony, speeches. The lieutenant governor even showed up. Three days later, another car rolled off that same line. No one gave two craps about her. But they should have, because this 1967 Chevrolet Impala would turn out to be the most important car—no, the most important object—in pretty much the whole universe._

 _She was first owned by Sal Moriarty, an alcoholic with two ex-wives and three blocked arteries. On weekends, he'd drive around giving Bibles to the poor, "gettin' folks right for Judgment Day." That's what he said. Sam and Dean don't know any of this, but if they did, I bet they'd smile._

 _After Sal died, she ended up at Rainbow Motors, a used-car lot in Lawrence, where a young marine bought her on impulse. That is, after a little advice from a friend. I guess that's where this story begins._ "

That Marine, who we all know as John Winchester, treated that Impala like gold. He washed her, waxed her, buffed her. Some would say she was his best girl, but that honor was reserved for his beloved wife, Mary.

When Mary gave birth, first to Dean and then to Sam a few years later, that Impala, affectionately known as 'Baby', was the one who got them safely to the hospital, even with Mary gripping one of John's hands like a vice and John stuck in his own head about whether or not he really deserved to be a father. Mary was a little concerned about how the old beast of a car would stack up against safety regulations and car seats, but John knew that she would take care of them, no matter what. And, I guess, there are some things that even John Winchester is right about.

She took care of them when John's best girl went up in a haze of smoke and flames, housing her owner and her two boys against the harsh November winds. The police and the fire chief on the scene continuously offered to drop the Winchester boys off at a motel, but John refused, knowing that the Impala was now the only home they had.

Nights in the Impala came more frequently after November 2nd, 1983. John would claim the front seat as his own, drinking himself into a stupor to keep the nightmares from waking his children, who were curled up together in the backseat.

When Missouri and Pastor Jim, and even that old, jarhead bastard Bobby Singer introduced John into the world of hunting, the boys would end up in the backseat while John hunted. Sam would be asleep with his head in his brother's lap, while Dean held a shaking pistol between his two tiny hands, ready to blast anything that would dare disturb his little brother's sleep.

Of course, the sheer size of those Winchesters soon outgrew even the lengthy bench seats of the Impala. Between Dean's broad shoulders and Sam's tree trunk legs, the nightly battles for space were often too much for John to handle, so motel trips and phony credit cards began replacing nights spent in the safe warmth of the Impala more and more often. Then, John just gave up entirely and gifted the damn thing to Dean, opting instead for the silence and solitude that his truck gave him over the nagging and bickering that came with the boys crammed into the same six feet of space.

John should have been surprised to find that, without him in the picture, the boys got along a lot better, but he wasn't. Even though he was their father, he knew better than most that Sam and Dean were a unit, a family, and the Impala was their home.

" _The Impala, of course, has all the things other cars have…and a few things they don't. But none of that stuff's important. This is the stuff that's important. The army man that Sam crammed in the ashtray—it's still stuck there. The Legos that Dean shoved into the vents—to this day, heat comes on and they can hear 'em rattle. These are the things that make the car theirs—really theirs. Even when Dean rebuilt her from the ground up, he made sure all these little things stayed, 'cause it's the blemishes that make her beautiful. The Devil doesn't know or care what kind of car the boys drive._ "

Sam and Dean had made the car their own before John had ever given her up. Between baby Sam mashing crushed Cheerios between the seat cushions, and Dean claiming that he was going to drive the Impala when he got big, John knew that his car was now the boys' car, and there was nothing he could do about it.

More than that, she seemed to have adopted his sons as well. John couldn't help but shake his head when Sam pointed out that the black paint job sparkled that little bit more when Dean washed her than when John did, and he knew he couldn't _not_ give Dean the car when even he couldn't deny that the Impala drove smoother and reacted quicker when his oldest was behind the wheel. There was a story there, a bond, that he wasn't a part of anymore. So, when Dean turned 16, John tossed him the keys and never took them back. She was Dean's, and Sam was Dean's, and John had hunting. It was the luck of the draw. Sam and Dean never knew that their father felt like that. Dean would have hit the first person who thought that John Winchester believed in the anthropomorphic nature of the Impala, but he did. He really did. And that's why he let her go.

When Sam went to college, both boys had difficulty adjusting. Dean's was obvious. For anyone who knew him, the sight of Dean without Sam was like seeing a clear sky without the Sun. The absence of his brother's constant nagging made the silence deafening. Even the Impala's familiar growl couldn't cut it.

But Sam…Sam was away from the only home he'd ever known. It seemed like everywhere he looked, everyone had a fancy, Joe Cool college car. They had their new, modern cars, and their apartments, and their fancy clothes, and their friends. Sam had none of that. His car was his home, and it was thousands of miles away. His clothes were all hand-me-downs or bought on the cheap from the Salvation Army. His best friend probably hated him. For a guy whose entire life had been spent on the road, he didn't think he'd have those kinds of issues. But he did. The safest four walls he knew were made of metal, the voice that meant safety wasn't his mother's or his father's, but his brother's, and the sound of the Impala's engine was his favorite lullaby.

He never thought he would miss the way the seatbelt buckle dug into his hip when he curled up in the backseat, or the way that his legs always cramped up at 2:30 a.m. because of his awkward positioning. But he did. He missed that and more. He missed the obnoxious sound of his brother snoring away in the front seat, and the way he would blare his music at eardrum bursting decibels as a wake-up call. He missed the way that Dean would just pull the car over onto the side of some unknown road, and it still felt like home, because Sam was home. He was with his brother, in the car, and that was all that mattered. The two constants in his life, together.

" _In between jobs, Sam and Dean would sometimes get a day—sometimes a week, if they were lucky. They'd pass the time lining their pockets. Sam used to insist on honest work, but now he hustles pool, like his brother. They could go anywhere and do anything. They drove 1,000 miles for an Ozzy show, two days for a Jayhawks game. And when it was clear, they'd park her in the middle of nowhere, sit on the hood, and watch the stars…for hours…without saying a word. It never occurred to them that, sure, maybe they never really had a roof and four walls…but they were never, in fact, homeless._ "

That's what those Leviathan douchebags had done. They hadn't just stolen their faces and their names. They had robbed them of their home. But the boys' story didn't end when they locked the Impala up in that storage unit, and neither did hers. She would stay there and wait until her boys came for her again. And the boys? Well, their story was just getting started.

* * *

 **A/N:** So, I thought I would take a hopefully interesting take on the episode. Rather than tackle the dichotemy between the Leviathan!Winchesters and the real Winchesters, I thought I would tackle an issue that really rubbed me the wrong way throughout this season. I hope you all enjoyed. Please leave me a review and let me know what you thought. I'll see you all next Tuesday!


	133. Liar, Liar

**A/N:** Hey everyone, welcome back, and Happy Easter to all who celebrate. Thanks to redlite, Tomb Raider and Walking Dead, bagelcat1, shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod, Bjester74, 332249, and hectatess.

So, this chapter is tagged to 7x07, _The Mentalists._ I enjoyed this episode, and I hope you all enjoy this chapter. Please leave me a review so I know what you thought.

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

 **Liar, Liar**

The drive away from Lily Dale was filled with a peaceful silence, relieved of the tension that had plagued the brothers for the past few days. Dean's admission of guilt and Sam's acceptance of his actions had seemingly put them back on the same page, something they were both grateful for.

Sam was still hurt over Dean lying to him, but he realized that it was more hurt than anger now. He hadn't seen Amy in over two decades, but she had been his friend and saved him from her mother. However, she had killed people and he recognized now that Dean had thought he was saving him from having to go and kill another person he cared about. Madison still haunted his nightmares on occasion, and Sam didn't know if he would be able to take Amy joining her. He also realized that he was more hurt over Dean not trusting him than he was over Amy being gone. It really hurt to know that his older brother didn't trust him.

"Were you really going to tell me about Amy?" Sam asked, the words leaving his mouth before his brain could catch up with them. He didn't want to start another argument, especially now that Dean had settled down a little. He _had_ missed Dean the past week and a half that he'd been on his own. They hadn't been apart since Sam had gotten back from Hell, and with Lucifer banging around in his brain, Sam found himself afraid for the first time since he'd freed the Devil. Without his stone number one, Sam was afraid of crumbling, but he couldn't face his brother after he had walked away.

Dean sighed, pulling Sam from his thoughts.

"Sam…" Dean rubbed his hand over his eyes, suddenly looking as tired as he had claimed to be in Prosperity, Indiana. Sam was about to dismiss his question, assure Dean that it wasn't important, but he couldn't. He knew his brother wouldn't let it go now that he'd asked, so he had to wait him out. Dean sighed heavily, leaning down to fiddle with the heating controls. "I told you I hate lying to you, man, and I meant it."

"I know, but what if this Lucifer thing never goes away? Would you ever have told me?"

"Sam, we're gonna figure out the Lucifer thing. We'll find a cure or some hoodoo thing and fix that hole in your noggin. And I would've told you as soon as I knew that it wouldn't end with a gun in my face."

"I apologized for that," Sam stated, tempted to cross his arms.

Dean grinned wryly. "Yeah, I know. But that crazed look in your eyes was pretty freaky, dude. Didn't want to see that look make an appearance again."

Sam chuckled, knowing how it must have looked when he was in that warehouse, talking to himself. Dean really must've been feeling better if he was willing to joke about it.

"Wait a second…" Sam reached out and smacked Dean on the shoulder. "You told me you hated lying to me."

"Yeah, and no, I wasn't lying about that either. Lying to you is like trying to kick a puppy or somethin'."

"But you lied to me all the time when we were kids!"

"What? No, I didn't!"

"Yeah, you did! You lied about food and money and what Dad did! Basically, half of everything you told me was a lie!"

Dean scoffed. "That wasn't lying."

"Yeah, it was! You didn't tell me the truth, which is lying!"

"Oh gee, thanks for the definition, college boy! It was either lie to you about basic stuff like that, or have you freaked out every single damn time Dad left the motel!" Dean smacked the steering wheel before sitting back, allowing his head to drop momentarily onto the headrest. "Dad basically told me to lie my ass off to you when you started getting too curious, and it sucked." Dean sat quietly for a moment, his eyes glazed in a way that told Sam his brother wasn't just focusing on the road. "You know, when you were about five, you really started asking questions. Just constantly pestering me about Mom and Dad and why we were always moving around. I always just said, "You don't wanna know." I did my best not to lie to you, but I didn't want to scare you neither. If you knew what kinda crap me and Dad were going through…man, you would've had more nightmares than you already did."

Sam sat quietly, not knowing how to broach the subject that he already knew everything that Dean was talking about. Not because he could remember back when he was five, but because he had read Dean's confession in Chuck's book. He had read Dean's heartbreaking confession from when he had died in Cold Oak, and the words (even in Chuck's creative and overdramatic prose) had broken his heart. He hadn't known until this moment whether or not the words were true or whether Chuck had just taken creative liberties with his brother's grief. Now, he knew.

"You were just trying to protect me…"

Dean smiled grimly. "Yeah, I guess." Sam watched as his brother got a far off look in his eyes. "I mean, if you knew some of the things that we did…that _I_ did…"

"S'okay, Dean. I know you were just looking out. You may have been lying, but you were only trying to keep me safe." Dean nodded, and Sam took a breath. "But I'm not five years old anymore. I can make my own decisions, and I can deal with the consequences when I make the wrong decision. You don't have to lie to me anymore."

Dean was already shaking his head. "I know that, Sammy. But—"

"I know I've screwed up. Ruby, Lucifer, being soulless. Take your pick. But I need you to trust me."

"Sam, I _do_."

"Because if you don't trust me, I sure as hell won't be able to trust myself," Sam continued as though he hadn't heard Dean's interruption.

Dean sighed, knowing that there was no way to get through to Sam when he got like this. When Sam started to doubt himself, the only thing Dean could do was easy. It came to him as easily as breathing.

"I trust you, Sam. You're probably the only person I trust right now, alright? So, quit letting Lucifer get to you. Stone number one, remember?"

Sam smiled, still a little peeved that his brother had gone behind his back to kill Amy, but knowing that Dean meant what he said. Having Dean on his side would make all the difference. They'd beaten Lucifer once, they could do it again.

"No more lies?" Sam asked.

Dean was already nodding. "No more lies."

* * *

 **A/N:** Now, I know that Dean does lie to Sam in future seasons (season 9 being a prominent example), but, in my opinion, Dean does have his reasons for lying then, so let's go without foresight, and imagine this conversation happening. I hope you all enjoyed, and I will see you all on Tuesday.


	134. Weekends in Vegas

**A/N:** Hey everybody! Hope you all had a restful week, and a good Easter for those who celebrate. Thanks to SammysGirl42 (x2), Tomb Raider and Walking Dead, Charlie4short (x2), bagelcat1, Colby's girl, hectatess, and shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod for the reviews.

This chapter is tagged to 7x08, _Season Seven, Time for a Wedding_. Hope you all enjoy.

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

 **Weekends in Vegas**

"Sammy! Sammy, Sammy, Sammy!"

Sam groaned and attempted to roll over in his bed as it bounced and jostled him. "What?" he mumbled, hoping his response would stop his brother from jumping all over the place.

"Wake up, bitch! It's your birthday! Little Sammy's finally all grown up!" Dean shouted as he continued jumping up and down on Sam's mattress.

Sam groaned again. "Wish _you_ were," he yawned as he sat up in bed.

Dean whooped as he landed on his ass beside his brother. "Don't be cranky, kid! It's not every day you turn 18! C'mon, up and at 'em! We've got to ring in your birthday properly!"

Sam yawned again as he yanked his covers up higher. "Dean, it's only 10 o'clock! Pretty sure everything you find fun isn't open yet."

Dean glanced over at his brother with indignation in his eyes before squaring his shoulders. "Fine. Go back to sleep, and I'll pitch these chocolate chip pancakes. Buzzkill."

Sam propped himself up on one elbow and stared blearily at his older brother. "Chocolate chip pancakes? Where did you get those?" The only diner in Ely, Nevada served only banana chocolate chip pancakes, and for some god forsaken reason refused to remove the bananas for him. McDonald's didn't specialize either, so how did Dean… "Dean, did you make chocolate chip pancakes?" Dean shrugged in his practiced "yeah-but-it's-not-a-big-deal-so-don't-think-you-have-to-pretend-to-want-them" way. "Wh-where did you get the supplies?"

Again, Dean shrugged. "Mrs. Latham down the hall. Laid it on pretty thick, but she was putty by the time I got around to asking. A regular Mrs. Robinson if I ever saw one, Sammy." Dean smirked over his shoulder at him as he picked up the stack of steaming chocolate chip pancakes, but Sam saw right through his joking. Dean had buried his pride, gone down the hall to their 60-year-old cougar of a neighbour, and asked for the supplies to make his brother his favourite breakfast for his birthday, promising god only knew what in return. And Sam had gone and ruined it by being grumpy. In his defence, he had been up late studying for his finals. Yes, it was way too early to be worrying about those, but he didn't want to give Stanford any reason to take away his full ride.

A jolt ran the length of Sam's body as he recalled the Stanford letter sitting in the bottom of his duffle bag. He had received his acceptance letter, and the offer of a full ride, almost a month previous, and he still hadn't told Dean that he had applied, let alone accepted on the spot. This, his 18th birthday, was the last one he would get to spend with his brother. Dean, who always made sure to go the extra mile on Sam's birthday to make sure he got to be normal for a day, would be completely blindsided. That jolt settled into the pit in his stomach. He knew he was going to hurt Dean by leaving, and as much as he wanted to ask Dean to come to California with him, he felt like he already knew what his older brother's answer would be. But that didn't lessen Sam's guilt. His last birthday with the only family that mattered to him, and he had screwed it up before it had even started.

Sam jerked as he heard the metal grate of the garbage can as it slid open. "Dean, don't!"

Dean turned with the plate of pancakes poised over the open garbage. "Huh?"

"Just give me the damn pancakes, man!" Sam hauled himself out of bed and tripped over the sheets as he ran over to the table.

"Wow, emotional whiplash much? Is it that time of the month, Samantha?" Dean teased as he slid the plate over to him.

"Shut up, you know they're my favourite," Sam mumbled around a mouthful of ooey-gooey chocolate.

Dean chuckled. "Whatever, man. Just hurry up and finish your pancakes. We've gotta hit the road."

After packing and checking out, they loaded into the Impala and left the motel behind. Despite Sam's persistent questioning, Dean refused to tell Sam where they were going. The long silence, for once not punctuated by Dean's ridiculous music collection, lulled Sam into sleep, leaving him dozing against the car window with Dean smiling gently beside him as he drove them further towards their destination.

"Sam…Sammy, wake up!"

Sam shook himself awake, immediately becoming aware that the car had stopped moving. He blearily opened his eyes, quickly rubbing them as the sight in front of him became clear. The neon, multiple bars, and pyramid shaped hotel gave it away in less than a second.

"Vegas?" he looked over at Dean, startled when he found a very convincing fake ID with his picture and information on it shoved in his face.

"Happy birthday, bud!" Dean was grinning from ear to ear. "I know it's a little early for Vegas, but I figured we could have some good times for your eighteenth! Take in a show, meet some girls, have a couple of drinks! Maybe win enough at a casino so I don't have to go to a pool hall anytime soon. What do you think?"

Sam looked into his brother's bright green eyes, noting that he looked happier than he had in a long time. Las Vegas wasn't exactly his idea of a good time, but spending the day with Dean in a new place would be a great birthday memory, especially in light of what was coming in September.

"What are we waiting for? Let's go!"

* * *

The Winchester Brother's Annual Blowout Las Vegas trip was something both Sam and Dean looked forward to. It started on Sam's eighteenth birthday: two brothers, armed with one real and one fake ID, taking on the world. A day that was just about them, being brothers. No hunt, no Dad, no rules. Just an eighteen-year-old with his twenty-one-year-old brother, doing _normal_ things. It was Sam's favourite memory, one that he held close to his chest at Stanford. After his argument with John blew Sam's familial relationships out of the water, Sam knew that he would always have the memories of that one day in Vegas with his big brother.

They had put the idea of making it an annual thing on hold when Sam went to college and kept it on pause when their world was rocked by Jess dying, then John dying. Sam couldn't handle Vegas before Dean went to Hell, but the second he was topside again, they headed out into the desert for a resurrection party that almost got them both arrested.

They made sure to try to do it every year after that, come rain or Apocalypse. It was something that spoke to who they were as brothers, just as much as the Jayhawks or mullet rock, or even the Impala. They may not be able to do it every year, with hunts springing up and world ending disasters to deal with, but they did their best. It was a slice of normal that Sam still desired, even after all these years, and it was a place where someone like Dean, someone who enjoyed living each day to the fullest, could run free for at least a couple of days.

It was an important part of their history. Perhaps not the most important part; there were decades of fights and reunions and deaths and rebirths to take into account, but those weekends in Vegas were always the slight reprieve they needed. Two brothers against the world.

* * *

 **A/N:** Well, I hope you guys enjoyed that. Please drop a review and let me know what you thought, about this and about ScoobyNatural. Hope you all have a good week, and I'll see you guys back here on Tuesday.


	135. worry, v

**A/N:** Hi everyone. Hope you had a good week. I'd like to apologize about last week. I know I updated on Wednesday morning instead of Tuesday night. That one's on me. I'd like to thank Bjester74, shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod, hectatess, and Colby's girl for the reviews, despite the lateness of the chapter.

This chapter is tagged to 7x09, _How to Win Friends and Influence Monsters_. I hope you all enjoy. Please leave a review to let me know what you thought. I can't lie, this is chapter 135, and I've got about 20 chapters written, and I'm starting to get tired. Your reviews totally help me keep going, because, even though I'm not going to give up, it helps knowing there are people along for the ride. Thanks.

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

 **worry, v.**

"You know, if you spent more time worrying about yourself, and less time worrying about him, you might both be better off."

Dean stood petulantly in the middle of the kitchen, arms crossed, book bag hanging by his side, bloody nose forgotten.

John was out. Either hunting or drinking, Bobby wasn't quite sure which, but that left him with the duty of picking Dean and Sam up from school when the principal called to say that Dean had gotten into another fight.

When he'd arrived at the primary school, it hadn't taken him long to figure out what had happened. Sam was standing off to the side, red hand-shaped marks just visible under his t-shirt sleeves. Dean's nose was running bloody, and his fists were scraped up. A third kid, about twice Sam's size, was crying in the corner, a tooth missing and the makings of a nice black eye starting to appear around his right eye. Even though the principal knew exactly whose fault the fight was, all three of the kids were sent home, with Dean and the other boy facing a three-day suspension.

The ride home had been silent, but when Bobby had glanced in the rear-view mirror, he had seen Sam curled up at Dean's side, with Dean running his hands gently over the bruises on his little brother's arms, almost as if he could erase them.

Dean met Bobby's stare with a steely glare of his own that would have had Bobby laughing if he hadn't known that the look meant that the 11-year-old meant business.

"Dean, I just mean that you can't protect him from everything, and if you get kicked out of school one more time, your daddy ain't gonna be too happy about it."

Dean dropped his bag and recrossed his arms. "But Uncle Bobby, Dylan was being a dick! And he's 10!"

"Language!" Bobby cautioned, causing Dean to roll his eyes. "If you see a ten-year-old pickin' on your brother, you gotta tell someone, boy! Don't go handlin' it yourself."

"But Dylan's mom is friends with the teacher! She wouldn't have done anything!" Dean whined, wiping his hand under his nose.

Bobby sighed. He'd had this conversation with Dean a few times, and it always ended the same way. No matter how hard he pushed, Dean would always try to protect Sam, even if it got him kicked out of school. John's parenting had left Dean's priorities all out of whack. It wasn't that Bobby believed that Dean shouldn't protect Sam; it was that protecting Sam was all Dean seemed to do. It was frustrating to see the boy Bobby cared so much about let himself go in order to be there for his brother.

"Dean…" Bobby started to bend down so he was eye level with the boy.

"Dean!" The boy was off like a shot, leaving Bobby on one knee with his head hanging low. He loved those boys to death, but they were already dangerously close, and with Dean constantly worried about Sam the way he was, Bobby was worried that Dean would lose himself in the process.

* * *

Another hunt, another Winchester hospital visit. Bobby was really getting sick and tired of having to haul ass to another county hospital because John had let his boys down.

Bobby wasn't even sure what they had been hunting this time. All he knew was that it had landed Dean in the hospital, John was MIA, and Sam had called him on the verge of a nervous breakdown. So, Bobby hauled his ass down to the Middle-of-Nowhere, Idaho, just to make sure one of his kids was still alive and that the other one wasn't gonna lose it.

"Sam…"

The tall young man looked up and smiled in relief. He slowly unfolded himself from the uncomfortable hospital chair he had dragged into the room and walked over to shake his hand.

"Hey, Bobby. Thanks for coming."

Bobby nodded, peering around him to look at the figure in the hospital bed. "How's he doin'?"

Sam sighed, all but collapsing back into the chair. "Doc says it's pretty bad. He sprained his wrist and has a couple of deep cuts on his ribs and his back. Wouldn't be so bad if he hadn't smacked his head off a boulder on his way down."

Bobby winced, knowing how bad head injuries could get. "He woken up yet?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah, for about thirty seconds." Bobby sighed in relief. "Not sure if he knew I was here or not," Sam tacked on, so quietly Bobby knew that he hadn't meant to say it aloud.

"I'm sure he knew, son."

Sam fiddled with the cuff of his sleeve. "I got into Stanford, Bobby."

Bobby did a double-take, surprised at the sudden change in conversation. "Good for you, kid! Congratulations."

Sam continued to look down at his hands, resting on the hospital bed by his brother's hip.

"Why do you make it sound like a bad thing?" Bobby asked.

"Dean." A simple, one syllable word, but Sam poured so much meaning into it, Bobby couldn't help but understand. Those two had been as thick as thieves since Bobby had met them, and their bond had only gotten stronger through time. If Sam went to California, the odds were against Dean going with him, even if their pigheaded Daddy didn't have a say in it. Dean was addicted to the hunt, almost as much as he loved his little brother, but when push came to shove, Dean would pick saving people over Stanford, even over Sam. Not because he wanted to ( _Bobby was pretty sure it would break something inside Dean to have to make that choice_ ) but because it was the only thing he knew how to do.

"Sam…" Bobby sighed, pulling the other chair in the room over so he could sit next to Sam. "Sam, you can't base your life around Dean."

"But—"

"You hate hunting, son. You hate the traveling, and you hate the crappy food, and you hate almost getting sliced up every time you go out the door. This ain't the life for you, kid. Dean knows that."

"He almost got killed out there with two people watching his back," Sam whispered, staring at his brother's face as if it was the first time he'd ever seen it. "What'll happen when there's only one person watching his back, and that person is _Dad_?"

Bobby sighed, knowing he didn't have a good answer for him. John was as stubborn as they came, and when his nose caught a hunt, he went after it with everything he had. Bobby had often thought that John's military nature towards the hunt would get himself and his boys killed one day, but if he could save Sam…Dean was already too far in, a lifetime of hero worship towards his Daddy and a need for vengeance against the thing that took their Mom fueling his desire to hunt and be the hero.

"I dunno, Sam…"

" _Sammy…_ "

Sam's face broke out in a smile wider than Bobby had ever seen. "Hey, you're awake!"

Dean stared around the room groggily. "Yeah, and you look like you haven't slept in days. What the hell, Bobby? You let this kid keep watch?"

Bobby caught sight of the smirk on Dean's face and reeled back the urge to wallop him in the head. "Wasn't like you were goin' anywhere fast, Slick. That goose egg on your noggin was sure to slow you down."

"I'm gonna go grab your doctor." Sam nearly ran from the room, all of his energy miraculously appearing at the same time his brother opened his eyes.

Bobby shook his head. Yeah, if he could get Sam free from the hunting life, the kid might actually have a decent shot at making a decent living. But the two were so tied up in each other, Bobby wondered if separating them would do more harm than good.

* * *

"How's he doing?" Sam asked quietly as he climbed into the car. He took a quick second to peer into the backseat, thankful to find his big brother sound asleep after his turducken drugging.

"He's sleeping it off," Bobby replied, keeping his eyes on the back entrance of Biggerson's. "Tryptophan coma."

"So, you think he's okay?"

"Yeah, he's alright," Bobby sighed, doffing his cap and wiping an arm across his brow.

"Good. So, you don't worry about him?"

Bobby held back a sigh. Sam, for all his intelligence, sure could beat around the bush when he wanted to.

"What do you mean? Before the turducken?"

"Yeah." Sam glanced in the rear-view mirror again, checking on his brother. "Yeah, I kind of mean more like…uh…more like ever since my head broke…and we lost Cas. I mean, you ever feel like he's—he's going through the same motions but he's not the same Dean? You know?"

Bobby smiled grimly. After so many years of fighting alongside each other, and so many years of forced separation, one thing that would never change is that the Winchesters worried about each other. The two had lost each other more times than he could count, and had lost more friends and family along the way than any god would deem necessary.

"How could he be?"

"Right. Yeah, but what if—"

"What if what, Sam?" Bobby burst, years of frustration coming to the forefront. The kid beside him was dealing with a busted head, and the kid asleep in the backseat was starting to sound like a kamikaze pilot, and they were still bitching at him about how worried they were about each other. "You know, you worry about him. All he does is worry about you. Who's left to live their own lives here? The two of you…" Bobby shook his head. The more things changed, the more they stayed the same. Used to be that demons weren't their usual schtick and angels were myths and the Apocalypse was a bedtime story hunters told their kids as punishment; now they had the King of Hell on speed dial, an angel on their side, and an averted Apocalypse under their belts. But no matter how much the world around them changed, Dean worried about Sam and Sam worried about Dean, which left Bobby worrying about both of them, and wondering whether or not they would end up worrying him into an early grave.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thanks for reading! Have a great week, and I'll be back on Tuesday! Hope to see you then.


	136. A House of Cards

**A/N:** Hi everyone! Hope you all had a good week. Thanks to NightReader22 (x5), waitingforAslan, IsoldeAhlstrom, piece2gether, bagelcat1 (x2), hectatess, DearHart, tyrsibs, and shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod for the wonderful reviews. They are truly appreciated.

This chapter is tagged to episode 7x10, _Death's Door_. Such a sad episode. I hope I did it justice. Please enjoy, and leave a review at the end.

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

 **A House of Cards**

The physical torture wasn't the worst part. That was something that both the Winchesters agreed on. By the time Sam left for Stanford, he'd broken multiple bones, almost bled out twice, and had more scars than any 17-year-old had any business having. Dean was worse. He'd broken multiple bones multiple times, and it seemed like he spent more time bleeding than he did in one piece. So, the physical torture that was doled out in Hell was nothing compared to their real lives. Of course, both Alistair and Lucifer were more creative than most of the monsters they had faced down, but the pain was nothing they had never faced before.

For Dean, the worst part of his time in Hell was a toss up between the barrage of memories he was faced with on a daily basis and becoming the torturer. The memories were what made him crack, but actually doing the torturing was what really messed him up. The scars, the marks, the never-ending pain he could deal with. The knowledge that he had purposefully hurt others was what he couldn't shake.

For Sam, it was the mental anguish. It didn't really matter how many times Lucifer (and Michael) carved into him. After over a century of torture, it was something he had come to live with, like flossing his teeth or getting his shots. The physical pain, after decades and decades had passed, was little more than an inconvenience. But the mental torture was what put him on his knees.

The first time Sam opened his eyes and found himself above ground, he was amazed and relieved. And confused. Very confused. He'd just been on Lucifer's idea of the Rack, being tossed around by Lucifer and Michael while Adam cowered in the corner. Now, he was above ground, standing in the exact same spot where he had jumped in.

" _Sammy…_ "

Sam froze, knowing that voice. No…Dean had promised he wouldn't do anything. Sam had made his big brother promise up, down, and sideways that he wouldn't make any deal or do anything stupid to get Sam out of the Cage. Yet, there his big brother was, standing in front of him with a broad smile on his face.

" _Dean…_ "

The first sign that should have alerted Sam to the idea that things weren't okay was that he couldn't move. He wanted to— _God_ , how badly he wanted to. He wanted to run towards Dean, no matter how many cracks his brother would make about chick flick moments and slow motion running through an empty field, and hug him or throttle him. He wanted to just hold onto his brother and never let him go, no matter what demons or Death came to take Dean away for making a deal. But he couldn't move. He was forced to stand there, frozen in his spot, as Lucifer appeared and shoved his hand through Dean's chest, too quickly for Sam to even breathe.

Then, he was back in the Cage, with Lucifer's face leering inches away from him.

"Aww, poor Sammy…Did you really think your big brother would be able to get you down here? That he would even _try_?"

Sam tried to take a deep breath, tried to fight back, but suddenly there was a hand around his throat and his skin was engulfed in flames, and he allowed his consciousness to fade, relieved that Dean was somewhere out there, still alive.

The second time, it was Bobby. A field filled with Bobby Singer look-alikes and Lucifer kept snapping their necks. Over and over and over again. Just like in Stull Cemetery, and Sam was, again, helpless to do anything but watch. He couldn't even be sure which one of the doppelgangers was the real Bobby, or if the real Bobby was even there, but it was torture nonetheless.

Those were Lucifer's favourite games. Pretend to free Sam, then force him to watch as he destroyed Dean or Bobby, or, if he was feeling particularly vindictive, both. It was also why Sam was so reluctant to believe Dean when he said that he was actually free. It would be just like Lucifer to play the long game, pretend to free Sam then watch him spin out as the hallucination of Hell poked holes in his reality.

Sam knew, deep down, that he was free. The pain in his hand and the earnestness in his brother's voice were things that even Lucifer couldn't replicate. Still, that didn't stop him from sitting there in the hospital waiting room, praying that the edges of reality would flicker as he pressed down on the long-healed scar on his hand.

Bobby couldn't be dying. He just couldn't. He was Bobby. He was always okay in the end. Lucifer had actually snapped his neck, and he'd ended up just fine. The man had even been in a wheelchair, only to end up walking around right as rain as though nothing had happened. Bobby had lived through a war and killing his wife and losing Rufus and his wheelchair and the Apocalypse. He couldn't die now, not when they needed him the most.

And Dean needed him. Sam needed Dean, and Dean needed Bobby, so Bobby had to live, otherwise their fragile house of cards would come tumbling down in no time. Dean was already cracking around the edges, nearly breaking his hand by punching walls and losing his head while confronting Dick Roman in broad daylight. Sam had cracked long ago, allowing Hell to seep in through the cracks in his Hell wall. Bobby had always been there with his caulking gun, ready and willing to piece them back together and shore up their cracks when he could. He was their friend; the only family they had left.

So, Sam sat there and pressed. He pressed and pressed until he almost split the skin with his fingernail. There was no flicker; there was no hope. This was his reality. Bobby really was dying from a bullet wound to the head. Dean really was lashing out. And Sam really was powerless to stop any of it.

* * *

 **A/N:** Well, that was angsty for sure. I mean, it was an angsty episode, and I couldn't find a way around the angst this time. I hope you all liked the chapter, and I hope you all review. I'll see you all back here on Tuesday. Have a good week.


	137. The History of Hunting Vetalas

**A/N:** Thanks to bagelcat1, Colby's girl, hectatess, and shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod for the reviews.

This chapter is tagged to 7x11, _Adventures in Babysitting_. I hope you enjoy the chapter. Please leave a review to let me know what you thought.

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

 **The History of Hunting Vetalas**

The hunt had been a cluster to begin with. John had seen it coming from a mile away, but, against his gut instincts, he'd gone ahead and let Dean take it solo anyway. He'd hoped that it would help Dean pull his head out of his ass after…well, after. But it had just been a mess since the beginning.

Dean had been AWOL for about a week before John had been able to track him down at some dive bar, neck deep in broads, beers, and bourbon. He'd been so close to ripping him a new one but something in Dean's eyes made him stop. The poor kid had barely been hanging on by a thread since that night in Maine, and it showed. There was a fracture in his green eyes that hadn't been there before, and John cursed his youngest for the umpteenth time for the damage he had done to their unit. John shouldn't have let him go, knowing that Dean was a hundred times more volatile when Sam wasn't there to balance him, but John couldn't stand the barely-veiled sadness on Dean's face every time he looked at him, so he sent him off to Coney Island, where 7 men had disappeared over the course of the past 6 months. Difficult case to track, considering people were always coming and going while on vacation, but John had eventually pinned it down with some help from Bobby. A Vetala. Nasty vampire-like creature. They didn't have vampires anymore, but Bobby assured him that a silver knife would take the bitch down. Dean was good with a knife, better than almost anyone John'd ever met, plus the case would give his 22-year-old a reason to stay sober.

" _Should've listened to your gut, Winchester,_ " John swore at himself as Bobby administered another dose of morphine to his moaning son. " _Thank Christ for Joshua_."

He'd never heard of Joshua Hunter before, but he was damn glad to know the name now, no matter how ironic the moniker was. Something had gone wrong, and Dean had been swept off the map for four days before Joshua had roared into the Vetala's feeding den like some sort of supernatural Rambo and pulled Dean and some punk hunter named Richie out before they were sucked dry. Unfortunately, both boys had already been fed on. Richie had only been there for a day, so Joshua spun some story about a drug and booze binge to the local hospital for Richie when he'd dropped him off. Dean, however, had been fed on multiple times, so Joshua had sped for the only hunter he knew who could help. Bobby Freaking Singer.

It was only because his crappy, second-hand truck had finally bitten the dust that John had been at Singer's Salvage when Joshua dropped him off. Again, John thanked God for his crappy luck because, by the way the doc friend of Bobby's had looked when he left, Dean probably wouldn't have survived long enough for John to get there to say goodbye. Dean's body was fighting too many battles at once. The pain from the bite in his neck. The concussion from being knocked out. Dehydration. Starvation. Severe blood loss. Vetala venom. A blood infection. And now a fever because his son's body was too overworked.

"S'mmy," Dean whimpered out. The sound of it sent a chill down John's spine. Ever since he could remember, Dean had turned to Sam when he was in pain. Taking care of the kid had focused Dean's mind off of whatever pain he was in. Sam was the best kind of pain relief John could afford his son, so John allowed Dean's mollycoddling when he was sick or in pain. Now, however, he regretted it, not only because he felt it had turned his youngest soft, but also because it left Dean without.

" _Damn it, Mary. Why is he so much like you?_ " Mary would have been doing the exact same thing. Hell, she'd barely finished delivering Sam before she had started pestering the nurses to let her hold him, even though they were busy with the after-birth and cleaning her and Sam up. When she'd been sick after Dean's birth, all she wanted to do was care for him. Caring for someone else made her feel better. Dean shared that same caring instinct, in the same selfless way.

"Sam…" Dean mumbled once more as the morphine took effect and knocked him out.

"Balls!" Bobby swore softly, wiping his forehead. "I don't know how long we can keep this up, John."

"Dean's a fighter," he replied quickly, shoving down his worry that this may be a fight that Dean couldn't win.

Bobby nodded slowly, eyeing him carefully. "I know he is…but, and I hate to say it, but if he doesn't come back from this…don't you think you should give Sam a call? Get him down here in case…"

Neither of the men felt the need to curse themselves further by finishing that sentence. Bobby had a point, but John knew that, as much as he owed it to Dean after everything he'd put him through over the past 18 years, he couldn't do it.

John slowly shook his head as he made his decision. "Wish I could, but I can't." He would rather have Sam hate him than to break his eldest son's heart.

"Can't or won't?"

"Don't start with me, Singer."

"I know you and your boy had a falling out before he left for school, but don't you think Dean would want him here?"

"Don't act like you know my son better than I do, Bobby."

"So, you know that Dean would want him here."

"Of course I know, Bobby! For Chrissakes, he's only been callin' for him for the past three hours! But what happens if I call and Dean pulls through? He wouldn't want Sam to see him like this! Or, what happens if I call and Sam doesn't come? How do you think Dean will react then?"

"Jesus, John. What did you say to that boy that makes you think that he wouldn't come to be with his brother?"

John sighed sadly and shook his head before straightening up. "Told him that if he was gonna go, he'd better stay gone."

Bobby cursed under his breath. "You Winchesters…one of you is gonna put me in an early grave, I swear." They stayed in a slightly strained silence for a few minutes, both listening to Dean's hitchy breathing from across the room. "Look, John. I'm not gonna say what you did was wrong, but hell, man. This is for _Dean_. Your boy…he might be dyin' from this. Can't you shelve your pride for a day and let Sam come, just in case?"

John was already shaking his head. If he called and Sam came, but Dean pulled through? Dean would be pissed that his little brother saw him at a moment of weakness. Worse, if he called and Sam didn't come, it would break Dean's heart. "This isn't about pride. Sam made his decision; I made mine. He's not backing down, neither am I."

"It was just college, you dumbass! It's not like he decided to become a peace lovin' hippie!"

"He walked away from his family!"

"No, he walked away from you because you didn't give him a damn choice! He wants to talk to Dean, wants to see him! If you hadn't blown up like a stick of TNT, you'd'a known that! Sam never wanted out of the family! He loves his family, even his jackass Daddy! He wanted out of the life that you forced them into! It was killin' him, John!" Bobby's eyes searched his beseechingly for a moment before they hardened, finding no mercy in John's brown eyes. "Just like it's killing Dean right now," he snarled.

John didn't know how it happened, but one second he and Bobby were standing side by side, the next he had the older man shoved up against the wall, noses almost touching. "Don't tell me about my sons, Singer! You're not a father, you don't know what it's like!"

"I know what it's like to care about those boys!" Bobby spat back. "Family don't end in blood, and I spent enough time over the years raising those boys to consider them my own."

"But they're not," John replied, going almost deadly quiet. "They're not yours, and you're not their family."

Bobby gaped at him for a moment before wrenching out of his grip. "Get out," he whispered.

John blinked, the rage going out of his eyes and clarity coming to his mind for the first time since Joshua had carried a barely breathing Dean into Bobby's living room. "I'm not going anywhere without my son," he replied stonily, making to go back into the room to sit by Dean.

He heard the telltale click before he'd gone more than ten steps. He turned to find Bobby standing with rifle in hand. "Get out before I pump you full of buckshot."

John held his hands up in a peaceful gesture. "Alright, Bobby. I know I stepped over the line. I'm sorry. With Dean hurt, I guess I went outta my head for a minute there."

"Don't care." Bobby pumped the rifle once and aimed it at John's head. "Get out of my house."

"Okay, okay," John replied gently. "Let me grab my coat and Dean's keys and I'll head out."

"Leave the keys."

"Bobby, my truck is dead and the Impala is all I've—"

"You already took his damn brother from him, Winchester. You're not taking the car away from him too."

"And what will I drive with my truck dead?"

The question was barely out of his mouth before Bobby whipped a pair of car keys at his head.

"Take the old Sierra Grande. Don't bother bringing it back either. If I ever see your face again, Winchester, I swear…"

"You'll pump me full of buckshot, I know." John shrugged on his worn brown jacket before stopping at Dean's side. He considered his sleeping son's face for a moment. So young, but filled with so much pain, even in sleep. John wished he could erase all of it. But what was done was done. No going back now. "What will you tell him?"

"That his daddy's an idjit and that I had to kick him out before I shot him."

John smirked as he headed to the door. "So the truth then?"

Bobby stared at him for a moment before shaking his head. "No, I won't tell him the truth. It would only break his heart."

John nodded gratefully and left the junkyard for the last time.

It was a few days later that Bobby was able to wean Dean off the morphine long enough to have a coherent conversation with the boy and, as if Bobby's heart wasn't hurting enough, the first words out of the kid's mouth were those asking after his father's whereabouts.

"Sorry, kid. Your daddy's got a big mouth, and I couldn't stand him shooting it off much longer. Kicked him out before I shot him."

Dean grinned painfully, hand pressing into his side, where his broken ribs were. "Yeah, that sounds like you two. Did he—" Dean groaned as his attempts to sit up failed. Bobby gently lowered him back down onto the couch. "Did he say where he was goin'?"

"Nah, but he said he'd be in touch. Wanted to make sure that Joshua finished the hunt up right," Bobby fibbed.

"Did…Did Richie make it?"

Bobby softly scoffed. Only Dean could have just been dying of an array of injuries, and be worried about the other guy. "Yeah, he didn't get hit like you did. Last I heard he's gonna be fine."

"Good…hope he stops huntin' after this…job will get him killed," Dean made a pitiful attempt at his usual charming grin before a wince wiped it off his face.

Bobby pulled back the bandages covering the bite wound on Dean's neck to make sure it was clean and healing. "What the hell happened out there, boy? You usually don't get jumped by nothin'."

"Wrong intel, old man," Dean chuckled. "Vetala's…nasty bitches. Hunt in pairs, not solo like we thought. And they get mighty pissed when you try to take out their sister…"

Bobby caught an almost nostalgic look in Dean's eyes before pain overtook his handsome features. "Dean…your daddy told me what happened with Sam…"

"Don't want to talk about it," Dean replied in a grumpy tone.

"I figured you wouldn't, but I just wanted to say…Sam only walked away from John. Not you. I hope you know that."

Dean nodded quietly before biting his lip and looking away from him. Bobby, familiar with the Winchester methods of avoiding conversation, waited out Dean's silence with his usual grudged patience. "I know…I know he gave up the life because he hated it…but I ain't gonna give up on him…"

"Good…" Bobby patted Dean's shoulder. "That's good." Bobby sat quietly for a minute. "Dean…you know, there's been some weird activity in California these past couple of weeks. Couple of missing people, a black dog sighting, a poltergeist or two…Could really use my best man on it, if he's up for it."

Dean's eyes lit up before he could stop them. He nodded gratefully. "Yeah, I'm sure Baby would like some sunshine, and I sure wouldn't mind a California girl or two."

Dean made to get up again but Bobby, anticipating his actions, pushed him back down. "Easy, Casanova. Missing people look to be werewolf attacks, so there's no use going when the cycle is off. 'Sides, I don't think those girls will want anything to do with you with your neck gaping open like it is. It'll keep, Dean. Give yourself a few days."

Dean hesitated but nodded. Bobby patted him on the shoulder again and left him to sleep.

* * *

"So, you knew the whole time that Vetalas hunt in pairs?"

Dean shrugged, choking down the last bite of his bacon cheeseburger.

"And you didn't tell Dad because…?"

Dean shot Sam a look. "You are the world's leading expert on how things usually go when you tell John Winchester that he's wrong. So, you wanna back up and try that question again?"

Sam threw a fry at him. "Easy there, _Old Man_. Why wouldn't you at least write it down somewhere so I didn't walk in to a Vetala hunt with the wrong intel?"

Dean shrugged again. "Didn't think you were comin' back. Not to hunt anyway. Figured if I ever caught a Vetala hunt again, I'd know better, and Dad wouldn't have listened to me anyway."

Sam was silent, sipping his water through a straw. "Did…did Bobby know?"

Dean tensed for a minute before plastering a fake smile on his face and looking Sam in the eye. Fake it 'til you make it. "Yeah, man. Of course Bobby knew. The old man knew everything." Sam opened his mouth to reply but was cut off. "You ready to hit the road? We've got Dick Roman's ass to kick."

Sam swallowed down his reply and nodded. He knew that when Dean got like this, it was better to just let him ride it out. After a few weeks, Sam knew that his brother would get tired and start behaving like a semi-functioning human being again, and when that happened, Sam would be waiting. He'd been through this with Dean when their Dad died, and when Ash died, then again when Ellen and Jo died. All that was left for him to do was wait.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thanks for reading. Please leave a review to let me know what you thought. I'll see you back here on Tuesday.


	138. Mom Voice

**A/N:** Hi everyone! Hope everyone had a good week. I realized I haven't done an update on myself in a while, so here goes. I'm down to one crutch and am waiting for my MRI to see how bad the tear in the ligament is, so that the doctors can decide whether or not to operate. I'm walking without the crutches at physio, and am slowly but surely getting back on my feet. Thanks to all of you for the well wishes, prayers, and good thoughts. Thanks especially to Bjester74 for reminding me to be positive when I get down.

Anyway, now back to our regularly scheduled programming. Thanks to Bjester74, waitingforAslan, DearHart, Guest, Colby's girl, hectatess, Guest, and shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod for the wonderful reviews and private messages. I truly appreciate it.

This chapter is tagged to 7x12, _Time After Time._ I hope you all enjoy.

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

 **Mom Voice**

Jody sometimes wondered what Owen would have been like as a big brother. Would he have been a protector? Would he have been belligerent about having to share his parents' attention? Would he have picked on his younger sibling? Would they have gotten along? Would they have had similar interests, or would they have been total opposites?

Unfortunately, she never got to find out. Not only was Owen's delivery difficult and the doctors warned her not to try for another child, but, after she found out that Owen was sick, the desire to have another child left her immediately. What kind of parent was she if she couldn't keep her only child healthy? So, she threw herself into her work. She progressed quickly, rising through the ranks from Officer to Detective to Sheriff within a few years. She locked up her dreams of having a family along with the numerous criminals she locked up over the years. That is, until Owen was suddenly knocking at her door, and the dead rose in Sioux Falls. Then, she was thrust into this world of monsters and mayhem, where the kooky drunk that lived just outside of town was a genius, and most mysterious deaths could be explained through monsters, and the Apocalypse had come and gone without anyone being the wiser.

Her dead son had risen from the grave, but somehow, he had blessed her with two new sons. Two older, harder, angrier sons who had never really had a mother. She didn't know when she started thinking of the Winchesters in that way, but when she heard from Sam that Dean had gone missing during a hunt that she had sent them on, her one and only thought was " _Please don't take another one from me_."

When Owen got sick, there was nothing Jody could do. But now, with everything she'd seen and done and been through, she knew she could help Dean. At least, she could help Sam help Dean.

Jody stared over at Sam as he drove towards the Shady Pines Retirement Home.

"Sorry, but how…?"

Sam glanced in the rear-view mirror before risking a peek over at her.

"How what?"

"Dean is in _1944_. Like, Nazis and Hitler and World War 2. How in the hell did he send a letter to you _now_?"

" _Back to the Future III_ ," Sam responded simply, glancing over his shoulder as he switched lanes. "Dean loves those movies. They bring together everything he loves: sci-fi, Westerns, and a cool car. Not to mention he's been blasted back to the past a few times, so he thinks of himself as a regular Marty McFly."

"So, this has happened before?"

Sam nodded eagerly. "He went back to the seventies and met our parents twice, and we both went back to 1861 to meet Samuel Colt. Dean also went to the future, but it turned out a lot different, thank God."

"So…this isn't new then?"

Sam grinned. "Not exactly."

"Wow…" Jody whispered, turning away to stare wide-eyed out the window. She knew their lives were crazy, but she would never have been able to guess how crazy the Winchesters' lives were. Time travel, Apocalypses, death and destruction…After Owen died, it took everything inside her to pull herself together and keep going, yet these boys kept going just on principle. And with Bobby so recently gone, and those two boys still willing to get up and continue fighting, it made Jody feel…less adequate. She had suffered one loss, and it had laid her out. These boys had suffered so many losses and were still going.

"Sam…" Jody hesitated, not wanting to bring him down. "What if this doesn't work? This woman is almost 90. She might not have any memory of it happening, or she might be confused, or—"

"It has to work!" Sam snapped, sighing heavily and tightening his grip on the steering wheel. "If she doesn't know anything, then we can't do the spell, and Dean is stuck in 1944, and trust me, it's not like the guy would just sit there and wait around for a rescue. My brother would probably book a one-way trip to Germany and try to gank Hitler, or do something stupid like try to alter everything that's gone down in the past few years with Lucifer. So, we've got to get him back before he changes the course of history." Sam balanced his wrist on the top of the steering wheel, using his free hand to press down hard on a scar that sliced across his palm. "We've got to get him. She has to know _something_."

"Sam…"

"It's gonna work, Jody."

* * *

"Did you really try to use your Mom Voice on Sasquatch over here?" Dean asked through his bruised and aching throat.

"Yes, and I'll use it on you too, if you keep talking. You need to rest your throat."

Sam chuckled at the threat, and Dean flipped him off, causing Jody to glare at them both. Dean pasted an innocent look on his face, to which Sam shook his head.

Jody turned around, hiding her smile as she continued to sift through Bobby's old boxes.

"Seriously, dude. I thought we had talked about jumping on top of glowing people?"

"How was I supposed to know that I was dealing with a freaking _Titan_? Grandpa turned some poor schmuck into a mummy, and I tried to stop him. Didn't know I'd end up in a Connery movie."

"Fine, then we're having it now. No more jumping on top of psychotic killers that glow. Okay?"

"Do you seriously expect this to happen again?"

"Knowing us? Probably."

Dean was silent for a moment. "Fair enough."

"Okay, you two. That's enough talking for one night. Sam, you haven't slept in days. Dean, you need to rest your voice. Bed, both of you."

Sam opened his mouth, the spark in his eyes showing Jody that he was preparing to fight her, but Dean beat her to the punch.

"She's right, bro. Let's hit the hay so we can hit the road in the morning. Can't gank Dick Roman if we're too tired to stand."

The fight in Sam's eyes went out in an instant and he nodded tiredly. "Alright. You want the bedroom?"

"Think it's big enough for two?"

Sam nodded, shouldering the extra bedroll Jody had brought with her and extending a hand to pull Dean out of his chair.

"Night Jody," Sam called over his shoulder. Dean smiled and winked as they slowly ascended the stairs, Jody watching them until they were completely out of sight. She shook her head thoughtfully as she slowly moved over to her own bedroll and laid down.

Life was a funny thing. She had dedicated her life to helping people, and now she had a whole new world of ways to help people. Life had taken her son from her, but, somehow, she had been blessed with two grown boys. Bobby was gone, but they'd needed his books, and here she was. She couldn't take Bobby's place, that was for damn sure, but she swore to herself that she would take care of Sam and Dean. She wasn't going to lose another kid.

* * *

 **A/N:** I love Jody, and I hope I've done her justice. And I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. I'll see you guys back here next Tuesday for the next chapter. Please leave me a review if you liked it, or if you didn't like it. Oh, or if you've seen Avengers: Infinity War and want to talk about it, because I am having _feelings_ about it. Okay, have a good week!


	139. Batman vs Superman

**A/N:** Hi everyone! Welcome back. Hope everyone is doing well. Thanks to Bjester74, piece2gether, hectatess, waitingforAslan, Colby's girl, shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod, and DearHart for the reviews to the last chapter. They were greatly appreciated.

This chapter is tagged to episode 7x13, _The Slice Girls._ Fair warning, this isn't my favourite chapter I've ever written. It started as something completely different, and then it turned into this, and I couldn't figure out how to change it back. Let me know what you think, please.

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

 **Batman vs. Superman**

Dean Winchester loved kids. It was kind of a cliché. The tall, dark, mysterious, leather clad man who looked like he could kill you with one look, who also had a soft spot for children was something every woman dreamed of, but it didn't make it any less true. Dean Winchester loved kids, and, even better than that, he was _good_ with them.

Sam would joke that it was because Dean and kids were on the same intellectual level, but it was probably because Dean treated them like little adults. He didn't pander down to them or paste on a smile to pretend that things were okay when they obviously weren't. He always told them the truth, but in such a way that they knew that he would be there to protect them no matter what. Dean knew that kids were smarter and more observant than most adults gave them credit for, so he treated them accordingly. And the kids never let him down.

Adults you could always rely on to freak the hell out when things went bad. It was very rare on a job to encounter a level-headed, fully grown human being. But kids almost always listened to him.

Boys especially looked up to him. He was big and strong and wore a cool jacket and drove a cool car. For years, Sam had thought that his brother was the coolest person on the planet, until he realized how uncool it was to come home drenched in your own blood. Recently, those looks of awe and admiration had come back, but those years without them had been tough for Dean. Sam had been a kind of moral compass for Dean while growing up. If he did something that upset his brother, then Dean knew it was bad. With the exception of hunting and dropping out of school, Dean did his best to follow Sam's lead because his little brother always seemed to know what was best. When Sam shot Dean one of those looks of appreciation and utter love, Dean knew he had done good.

Ben used to look at him like that. Dean was someone who protected, someone who took no crap from anybody, someone who taught Ben to protect and have a thick skin. He was the first legitimate male role model Ben had ever had. More than that, they were friends. They had secrets that they kept from Lisa, like late night movies with pizza or burgers, or meteor showers in the empty lot six blocks away. Sometimes, Ben wondered whether he was just a stand in, some sort of shoddy replacement for Dean's lost brother, but, considering everything Dean had done for him, Ben was okay with that.

Lucas Barr was another one who gave him those looks. Dean was someone who had been through something similar, and he was still standing. He gave Lucas the courage to try to make things right at Lake Manitoc, and showed him how to grow past the tragedies of his past. Thanks to Dean's influence, Lucas grew up to be a relatively normal kid. A little angry, a little sad, and a little too much into classic rock for his mother's taste, but normal. And she thanked Dean Winchester for that.

To little boys, Dean Winchester was Batman. He was slightly scary, had a ton of weapons and tools, and drove a wicked car. He even had an egg-head sidekick. But to girls? To the young ladies Dean encountered on the job, he was kind of a Superman. They knew they could rely on him. They knew he would always show up in the nick of time. To some of them, like Krissy and Claire, he was hilariously old fashioned. He would roll in to save them even when they insisted that they didn't need saving. He respected them, and he only needed to point to Jo and Ellen for examples of how much he respected female hunters, but he also wanted to protect them. There was an old-fashioned chivalry that nobody truly expected to come from Dean Winchester.

He cared about the kids he came into contact with. He wanted to save them from the crappy, non-childhood he had lived through. He knew they were strong enough to save themselves, but all he could see when he looked at them were himself and Sam.

Ben was Sam. Too smart for his own good, struggling to accept the truths that he was faced with, and angry at the world for choosing _him_. Ben had asked a few times, in what he must have thought was a nonchalant way, why the Changelings had chosen their neighbourhood, why they had taken _him_. Dean didn't know how to explain it other than that bad things happened to good people more often than anyone liked to talk about. That only served to irritate the young man, and Dean had once again been thrown into a depression thinking about how alike his kid and his brother were.

Krissy was him. Dad's right-hand hunter, already addicted to the life and unwilling to give it up, and that scared him. Dean knew how much his life had screwed him up. He wasn't ignorant to it, not anymore. He had lost too much to be willfully blind to it. He didn't want that for anybody, especially a young woman like Krissy.

Dean loved kids, and he had always loved women. There was something about them that brought out his protective instincts. Of course, he loved and protected Sam and Ben to the best of his abilities, and he was willing to give up his life (both literally and metaphorically) for the both of them. But he'd also basically raised them. He was neither the father of Sam nor Ben, but he felt like it sometimes. And he loved being Batman to both of them. But sometimes…sometimes he wanted to be Superman.

"Look, man. She wasn't yours. Not really."

Dean couldn't look his brother in the eye. Because Emma _had_ been his. Actually his. Not pawned off on him when he was only 4; not 'maybe but probably not his' like Ben, but actually his. She was half Winchester. She had his hair and his father's eyes. She may have been an Amazon, and definitely not a cool one like Wonder Woman, but she had also been part human. She had also been his. He could have been her Superman.

* * *

 **A/N:** Still not a huge fan of this chapter, though the ending is growing on me now that I've reread it again. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it. Please leave me a review to let me know your thoughts. Have a good week, and I'll see you on Tuesday!


	140. Laughter

**A/N:** Hi everybody, and welcome back. Thanks to Colby's girl, bagelcat1 (x3), hectatess, and shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod for the wonderful reviews. And good luck to everyone watching the season 13 finale this Thursday. I'm anxious just thinking about it. Let me know what you thought of this chapter or the episode or whatever in a review or private message, please and thank you!

This chapter is tagged to 7x14, _Plucky_ _Pennywhistle's_ _Magical_ _Menagerie_. Love this episode and typing the title is such a blast. Hope you all enjoy.

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

 **Laughter**

"What's your favourite sound?"

Nervous laughter echoed through the semi-abandoned lecture hall. Sam hated these 'getting to know you' questions that the faculty members were forcing upon the new freshman class during the student orientation events that were non-optional. They were corny, tired, and, nine times out of ten, required him to make something up on the spot. He couldn't exactly say what his favourite childhood toy was, because he'd lost so many between motels. He couldn't remember any of his birthday parties, except for his eighteenth. He had very few photos to share, no memories of his mother, and very few good memories of his dad.

Besides, he'd been trained his entire life to _not_ share personal details about his life. He had rebelled against that rule as much as he could, drawing a thin line between things that could get him taken away from Dean and things that his Dad was just paranoid about, but he did keep secrets. He had to, back then, but now he was free. He'd cut himself off from his family and the family business, and now he could do what he wished. He would be smart about it, but he was done following his father's rules.

"My baby cousin laughing," a blond girl in the corner answered, drawing Sam back to the present.

The Teaching Assistant in charge of the group activities nodded thoughtfully. "Thank you, Jessica. Anyone else?"

"Bacon frying in a pan!" a young man in a snapback and basketball jersey shouted from the back row. A few vegetarians turned around and shot him a scathing look, but he and the TA laughed.

"Okay, thank you, Evan. Let's keep the answers coming!"

"The Super Mario Bros. theme song!"

"Rain on a tin roof!" Brady hollered, sitting on Sam's left.

"A campfire!" Luis added, causing Sam to wince, reminded instead of the sound of bodies burning in their graves.

"A soda can opening!" Rebecca laughed.

Zack elbowed her in the side. "Popping bubble wrap! _Pop, pop_!"

Sam winced as the echo of gunshots popped in his mind's ear.

"The sound of a hockey puck hitting the back of a net!" The class turned to look at the young woman sitting in the second-last row. "Sorry," she giggled. "I'm Canadian."

The TA smiled. "Awesome answers, everyone! Does anyone else want to add an answer to our list?" Everyone looked around. "What about you, Sam?"

Sam held himself back from rolling his eyes. What could he answer? That the crackling of fire reminded him of bodies burning? That he'd never gotten to play video games or sports? That he'd never been able to relax enough to enjoy the sound of rain on the roof because motel rooves almost always leaked? He had no sounds that he could relate to home, because he'd never had a home before. He'd never gone on vacation or gone camping that wasn't the result of some drawn out hunt. The sounds his classmates had listed just screamed normalcy, but Sam couldn't relate. He had never had normal before. Not since he was six months old, and a fire had ravaged his nursery. He hadn't lived a normal life since his father had packed him and Dean into the Impala and driven away from Lawrence, Kansas.

"Sam?"

" _Always base a lie on the truth, man. Less crap to remember that way,"_ Dean chuckled in his mind, so Sam blurted out the first thing he could think of that wasn't a total lie.

"The growl of a 1967 Chevy Impala's engine…"

* * *

Dean had been through Hell. Literally and metaphorically. Sam knew part of it was his fault. Dean had sold his soul for him, and now he was dealing with Sam's hallucinations on top of dealing with Cas going haywire and Bobby getting killed. He got dragged away from Lisa and Ben. He'd lost just about everyone he'd ever cared about, and it showed. Sam would get crap about being overly emotional or poetic if he ever told Dean, but anyone who knew him could read Dean's losses on his face. His smile was a little dimmer, his eyes a little sadder, the lines on his forehead a little deeper.

He never laughed anymore. He would chuckle, if Sam was lucky. Usually there was a slight smirk or a quick exhale that showed that his brother was amused, but never a laugh. At least, not the full out, bend over backwards belly laugh that Sam was used to. Not since Bobby died, at least. They had lost Bobby, his home, and the Impala. They had lost Cas. Sam had lost his mental faculties, and Dean had lost his sense of humor.

Sam slammed the door of the Jeep he was driving closed, grimacing slightly as his damp shirt stuck to his chest. He slowly walked over to Dean, who was leaning casually against the car door with a serious look on his face.

"Let's roll," Sam called, spinning his finger in the air, ready for a long hot shower at a hopefully non-dingy motel. He paused as a look came over Dean's face, his older brother biting his lips and the lines around his eyes crinkling slightly. It was a look Sam recognized, but one he hadn't seen in a very long time. Sam threw his hands up in the air and bowed his head. "Go ahead. Say it."

Dean started laughing, his laughter slowly growing louder and longer. "I…I'm sorry," he struggled to get out. Sam fought back a smile. "You look like you got attacked by some PCP crazed strippers!" Dean laughed, his smile widening as he tipped backwards with the force of his laughs.

Sam stopped fighting and let his own smile spread across his face. It was good to hear Dean's laugh again. It had been far too long since he'd gotten a chance to hear it.

"Dude, one of them sprayed me with seltzer from his flower," Sam added, causing Dean to tip back ever further and allow his laughter to take him completely.

Sam was surprised at how much he had missed the sound of his brother laughing. Even if it came at his own expense, it meant more than Sam would ever admit. It was one of his favourite sounds. It meant that things were going back to normal. It meant that Dean was going to be okay. And, if Dean was okay, Sam would be okay too.

* * *

 **A/N:** Well, I hope you all enjoyed that. Please drop me a review. Enjoy the season finale. I shall see you all on Tuesday!


	141. Where My Demons Hide

**A/N:** Hi everyone, and welcome back. How'd we all like the season 13 finale? That image is burned into my brain right now, and I already can't wait for next season. Thanks to evi1721, bagelcat1, waitingforAslan, Colby's girl, celinenaville, DearHart, hectatess, and shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod for the reviews.

This chapter is tagged to 7x15, _Repo Man_. I wouldn't say this was my favourite episode, but there were some really good parts that I hope I touched on here. Please leave me a review to let me know what you think.

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

 **Where My Demons Hide**

"Sam, it's okay! It's okay. I'm here…I'm here. I'm not gonna leave you…I'm not gonna leave you."

A thousand memories cut through Lucifer's control, all at once, and Sam scrambled to hold onto as many as he possibly could.

Sam and Dean, shoving Lego bricks and army men in heating vents, door handles, and between the bench seat cushions. Carving their initials into the wood paneling in crude, childish lettering. Marking the Impala, their home, as their own. A bond, forged. Their father was still around back then, but that was the moment that the Impala became _theirs_.

That first day, when Dean picked Sam up from school. Sitting together in the front seat, as though no time had passed. Razing Dean about his musical tastes, secretly relieved that they hadn't changed because it meant that his brother was still the same person he had regretfully left in the dust four years previous.

Driving next to his brother, the open road before them. Not even necessarily heading towards another hunt, but just driving, free. No expectations, no overbearing father. Driving for days without a destination, hours filled with outdated music or with meaningless conversation that turned out to be more meaningful than anything.

Years of memories, assaulting his every sense. The pain of injuries, and the gentleness of his brother's touch as he tended to the scrapes and bruises. The sweet sound of his brother's laugh, and the heart aching pain of his brother's tears. The bad times, when they were up against a wall with only each other to depend on. The good times, when it was just them and the open road, where they could relax a little and just be brothers.

Dean waking him up from a nightmare.

Dean pranking him.

Dean grinning or smiling at him.

Dean.

Dean.

Dean.

Dean hugging him, so tightly that it felt like his ribs were going to break and his lungs were going to burst. One of a million hugs that had been shared, in comfort or support or just needing a physical reminder that the other person was alive and next to them.

Dean was his strength. Dean was the one who had always been there, supporting him, always. Even possessed by the Devil, Dean stood by Sam and made sure that he wasn't going to die alone.

"It's okay, Dean. It's gonna be okay. I've got him."

Dean was the one who gave Sam the strength to shove the Devil to the back of his mind, the reason Sam was able to take that final leap and save the world. Dean gave Sam the strength to shut the Devil out.

* * *

"Dean, where are you? I'm scoping zero here."

"Not a good sign," Lucifer shrugged, false concern coating his every word.

Sam swallowed hard and tried to push Lucifer's voice out of his head. It wasn't unusual that Dean wasn't answering. Jeffrey had looked pretty freaked out when they mentioned that the demon was back, so Dean was probably doing his best to reassure the already shaky man that they weren't going to let anything happen to him, not again. Sam just had to take a breath. Lucifer sitting in front of him like it was normal was really starting to get to him. His antics were grating on his last nerve, and the reminder of the things they had done to Jeffrey to get to Lilith were weighing on his mind.

Sam ducked his head to focus solely on the autopsy reports in front of him, doing his best to drown out both his fears over Dean and Lucifer's hallucination.

"Hmmm," Sam winced at the condescending voice that rang through his brain. "Surprised you haven't picked up on that yet. It's right there in the coroner's report." Sam blinked and continued studying the sheets in front of him. He flipped the sheet and did his best to continue. "Yeah. Uh-huh. In this latest round of killings, our big girls had traces of heavy tranquilizers in their blood. Yeah? But our demon's strong enough to make fat Betty do whatever he wants to, right? So, why does he need the tranqs? Think he's got a bad back? Yeah, whatever is going on here, you know that demon's not coming back to kill anybody."

Sam froze, realizing what Lucifer—or the hallucination of him—was saying. No demon needed tranquilizers and drugs to get what they wanted. Which meant somebody went to extreme lengths to make it seem like the demon was back. Which meant…

Sam pulled out his phone, speed dialing Dean immediately.

" _This is Special Agent Smith. Please leave your name, number, and a detailed—_ " Sam hung up, the lump of worry in his throat growing and threatening to choke him.

"Oh no," Sam shuddered at the slimy voice. "That's every cellphone Dean's got. One of them should've picked up, right? Big brother's probably dead."

Sam felt something snap inside of him. He spent 180 years being tortured by Lucifer. He tore him apart, reveled in breaking his mind and spirit. He suffered every day, watching his brother die over and over again. He had had enough. Dean was fine, and if he wasn't, Sam wasn't about to let another damn demon take him away. Not again. Lucifer wouldn't touch his brother. A serial killer demon wouldn't touch him, and neither would any human psychopath who tried to mimic a demon.

"Shut up," Sam snapped, gathering up his reports and marching out of the library in a flash, prepared to take down whatever evil SOB was screwing with their lives this time.

* * *

As Sam sat there on the bed, fire burning around him as his mind struggled to hold Lucifer back, he found that he couldn't regret it. The first time he had let Lucifer in, it had been his choice and, by doing so, he'd saved his brother from having to become Michael's meat-suit. The second time, he hadn't really had a choice. Cas had torn down the wall in his head like it was a piece of paper, and Lucifer had sprung free. This time, he'd let the Devil in to save his brother. Not the world, not to prevent the Apocalypse, but to find where Dean was and keep his older brother alive. That was something that Sam would never regret.

* * *

 **A/N:** I hope you all enjoyed that. Please leave a review to let me know what you think. We're slowly coming to the end of season 7, and I can't wait to hear what you all think of the coming chapters. I'll see you guys on Tuesday!


	142. Lullabies

**A/N:** Hi everyone, and welcome back. Hope you all had a good week. Thanks to Bjester74, LiveyXlee79, Colby's girl, hectatess, bagelcat1, shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod, and DearHart for the reviews. They really keep me going.

This chapter is tagged to 7x16, _Out with the Old._ I hope you all enjoy. Please leave me a review to let me know what you think.

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

 **Lullabies**

 **October 29, 1982**

Dean looked up at the sound of the light tapping on his door.

"You ready?" Mary poked her head through the open door, tilting her head down the hall. Dean clambered up, leaving his toys on the floor where they lay, and raced down the hallway as fast as his little legs could carry him. "Careful," Mary called, chasing him down with light footsteps and scooping him up in her arms just as they reached the nursery. Dean giggled, wrapping his arms around her neck as they entered the room. "Come on, let's say good night to your brother."

For the past five months, this had been a nightly tradition. Mary would bathe Dean while Sam splashed in the water, then Dean would go play while she bathed her baby, but Dean would always come running when it was time to put Sammy to bed. Thankfully, being a big brother was something that Dean seemed born to do, and Sam reveled in Dean's attention. Her boys were thriving together, and Mary loved watching them together.

Mary lowered Dean to the ground, and he hopped up on the small step stool next to Sammy's crib.

He leaned over and placed a gentle kiss on his brother's forehead. "Night, Sam."

* * *

 **February 27, 1983**

Dean sat cross-legged on the grungy motel room floor, his baby brother crying hysterically in his lap. Dean felt himself begin to tear up. The sun was still asleep, and Sam had been crying for what felt like hours, and Daddy was nowhere to be seen. His eyes continued to droop, but he didn't allow himself to fall asleep. Sammy needed him.

Dean gently rocked Sammy back and forth, the way Mommy had always shown him. She had always been so good when Sammy was crying. She always seemed to know what he wanted or what he needed. Dean didn't know those things, but he had to try. Mommy was gone, and Daddy was gone, so Sammy needed Dean to take care of him.

"Don't worry, Sammy. Dean's here," he whispered. It was the first time he had spoken in months, but, then again, talking to Sammy was different from talking to Daddy. Sammy didn't understand, so Dean couldn't accidentally make Sammy sadder like he could with Daddy. Plus, Sammy wasn't angry and sad all the time. And Sammy needed Dean more than Daddy did. "I'm here, Sammy. And I'm not gonna let anything hurt you."

Sam looked up at him, teary eyed, as his cries abruptly subsided. Slowly, a smile broke across the baby's face and he reached his chubby little fists towards Dean's face, slowly opening and closing his hands as though to grab his big brother. "Dadadada," Sammy beamed, and Dean slowly smiled back, a few tears leaking out of his eyes.

"We're gonna be okay, Sammy. I promise. Just go to sleep."

* * *

 **August 31, 2001**

Sam rolled over in his too-small single bed for what felt like the thousandth time. No matter how happy he was to finally be at Stanford, he just couldn't get used to the normalcy of the situation. There were no cars honking on the freeway, no drunken love quarrels echoing through the walls or the bathroom vents. His dad wasn't drunkenly snoring in the next room, and his brother wasn't fidgeting in the bed next to his.

It was too quiet. For the longest time, Sam's lullabies had consisted of motel room ambient noise and the Impala's engine. Now, his dorm room was eerily silent, and Luis, his roommate, slept like the dead, and not the kind of dead he was used to, either.

Frustrated, Sam snatched his phone from the small bedside table and padded with hunter's feet across the room and into the hallway. He passed dozens of closed doors before exiting onto the quiet quad. His thumb hesitated for just a moment before pressing down on the number '1' button. Bringing his phone up to his ear, he listened to it ringing as he chewed nervously on his thumbnail.

" _Somebody better be dying or dead,_ " the familiar and soothing voice growled out.

Sam winced. It was 2 o'clock in the morning in California, and, no matter how quickly Dean drove, he had left his family in Maine less than a day ago, meaning it was at least 5 a.m. wherever his brother was. Dean didn't do mornings, especially if he had just gotten back from a hunt.

"Sorry, Dean."

" _Sammy? You okay?_ "

Sam cleared his throat, the concern in Dean's voice and the insomnia making him overly emotional. "Yeah…yeah, man, I'm fine. Just couldn't sleep. Sorry, I shoulda realized you would be asleep. I'll call you later. Go back to bed."

" _Don't be stupid. I'm already up. No point hangin' up now. Just give me a sec._ "

Sam listened to the telltale rustling of Dean moving on the other end of the line, and the click of a door closing.

" _Alright, pal. I'm in the clear. What's up?_ "

"Honestly, Dean. It's fine. I just couldn't sleep. Go back to the motel before Dad realizes your gone," Sam pleaded, overcome with embarrassment. He was 18 and in _college_ , for Christ's sake. He shouldn't be running to his big brother to fix every problem he had. He couldn't, not anymore.

" _Don't worry about it, Sammy. Why can't you sleep?_ "

"Dean—"

" _Don't. You already woke me up, and if you're just gonna waste my time, I'm gonna come to that fancy-ass college and kick your ass in front of all those pretty college girls._ "

Sam rolled his eyes, a small smile tugging at his lips despite himself.

"Yeah, I just can't sleep. Not much you can do about it."

Dean scoffed. " _Nothing I can do about it? What am I, an amateur? Hell, who do you think put you to bed as a kid?_ "

Sam laughed quietly, staring up at the stars and wondering if Dean was outside too, hiding from their father or from his latest hook-up. "I'm not exactly a kid anymore, Dean. I don't think rocking me to sleep or rubbing my back is gonna help."

" _Pssh, that's minor league tricks, Sammy. You still got that portable radio I got you for your sixteenth?_ "

"Yeah." Sam had packed his bags quickly and in a rage, but he had made sure to pack all the important stuff. His favourite sweatshirt, the only picture he had of his mom and dad, all his books, and the small handheld radio Dean had given him had been stuffed in with his hand-me-down clothes.

" _Alright, so here's what you're gonna do…_ "

* * *

"Did you get any sleep last night?" Dean questioned, fixing his brother with a look as they finished loading up the U-Haul truck.

Sam shrugged. "Yeah…Yeah. A little…I—I don't know."

Dean's gaze softened. Sleep had never come easy to his little brother. Dean blamed all the moving around when they were kids. Kid couldn't fall into a normal sleep schedule when they were constantly crossing time zones. Luckily, getting Sam to sleep had always been one of his specialties. He had had no choice but to get good at it.

"Well, we'll find you a soft rock station. Always knocks you right out."

Sleep had never been easy for Sam, but now it was worse. Lucifer was banging around in Sam's brain, making the sweet release of sleep next to impossible. Dean would happily have stormed the Cage if he thought it would do any good to shoot Lucifer in the face, but, unfortunately, there was nothing Dean could do. It was mental. There was nothing and nobody he could shoot or stab, especially with Castiel melted into a pile of black goo.

But what he could do was tolerate the soft rock station that slowly but surely soothed Sam into sleep. And he could be right there, next to his brother, when the Devil woke him up again. It wasn't much, but, for Sam, it was enough.

* * *

 **A/N:** Well, I hope you all enjoyed. Please drop me a review to let me know what you thought. I'll see you guys back here on Tuesday. Have a good week!


	143. The Honorary Winchester

**A/N:** Hi everyone, and welcome back to another installment. Not gonna lie, I almost forgot it was Tuesday. I've worked 36 hours over the past 4 days. Thanks to Colby's girl, bagelcat1, Cam, hectatess, shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod, and waitingforAslan for making the week go a little faster and sharing the love.

This chapter is tagged to 7x17, _The Born-Again Identity._ Hope you all enjoy. Please let me know what you thought with a review.

 **A/N:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

 **The Accidental Winchester**

"What I did. What I became. Why didn't you tell me?" Castiel stared at him, wide eyed and shocked that the past few months of his life had been a lie.

"Because Sam is dying in there!" Dean snapped. They didn't have time. The longer Sam went without sleep, the more damage there would be to undo, and Dean didn't care if it drained Cas' battery to the red. He was going to fix what he broke.

"Because of me!" Cas snapped back. "Everything…All these people…I shouldn't be here." He turned on his heel and walked away, slowly climbing the hill back towards the car. The car that would have been Dean's precious Impala if Castiel hadn't unleashed an evil force on the planet he loved.

"Cas. Cas!" Dean called, frustrated when the angel didn't turn or slow at all. "You stay here," he barked at Meg, before turning and jogging after the angel. "Castiel, slow down, damnit!"

"Dean, I'm sorry. I remember everything I did. Everything I did to you, to Sam. Nothing I do here can change that."

"If you remember, then you know you did the best you could at the time." Dean internally winced at the words. He wasn't prepared to let his old friend off the hook, not by a long shot, but Sam needed help, and Cas was the only one they knew with the juice to fix him.

Castiel turned and looked at him incredulously. "Don't defend me! Do you have any idea the death toll in Heaven? On Earth?" Castiel thought back on everything he had done, even before the Leviathan had been inside him. He had destroyed the only defense Sam had against his memories of Hell. Castiel had seen Dean destroy people for doing less harm to his brother, and yet, here he was, defending him. "We didn't part friends, Dean."

"So what?"

Castiel shook his head. "I _deserved_ to die. Now, I can't possibly fix it…So, why did I even walk out of that river?"

Dean fixed him with a look, one that Castiel was quite familiar with. It was the look Dean gave Sam when he was acting stupid. It was a look that read _"stop your whining and man the hell up"_.

"Maybe _to_ fix it." Cas opened his mouth to respond, but Dean held up his hand. "Wait." He reached into the trunk of the car and pulled out a folded up trench coat. "Look, man. You screwed up. And I ain't ready to forgive you for that. But _you_ are the reason Sam's in this mess, so now you're gonna fix it, because you're the only one who can."

"And what if I can't?"

Dean scoffed, throwing the trench coat at him, which Cas caught reflexively. "We didn't think Sam would be able to fix the world after he sprung the Devil out of the Cage. But he found a way. This is the same thing. Remember when you were acting all high and mighty about Sam drinking demon blood? What did you call him? An abomination? And yeah, he screwed up. He didn't listen. Just like you. We told you not to get in bed with Crowley, and you did it anyway. Sam let Lucifer out. You let the Leviathan out. Sam spent 180 years in the Cage paying the price for what he did. So now it's your turn. You're gonna quit your bitchin', get your ass into that hospital, and you're gonna fix my brother. Then you're gonna help us clean up this Leviathan mess. Because we don't get to sit on the sidelines. In the end, it doesn't matter who screwed up. We fix problems together. Because that's the only way the world gets saved."

Castiel stared at the righteous man in front of him. He had, in essence, destroyed the only thing Dean held dear, and yet he was still giving him a chance to redeem himself. Perhaps it was self-serving—Sam would not get better on his own—but it was still a chance to prove himself. It was still a chance to be brought back into the fold and, maybe, one day, be considered family again.

Castiel had watched Dean go above and beyond for his brother. He had sold his soul to save Sam. He had come close to agreeing to be Michael's vessel to protect Sam from Lucifer. He made a deal with Death to get Sam's soul back. He had even protected Sam from Zachariah and Uriel and Castiel himself. Now, it seemed, he was making another deal with another unsavory figure to save his brother.

"Dean…" Castiel looked down at the dirty and bloodstained trench coat in his arms. He had done so many things to the Winchester brothers. Terrible things. He had played a hand in their downfall, no matter how unwilling he had been in his siblings' plot. Yet, they continuously forgave. He had been naked when Daphne found him. His coat had come off in the water. Yet, his brothers, his _real_ brothers, had saved it for him, despite his betrayal. "Thank you."

Dean looked taken aback for a split second before he scoffed. "Thank me by fixing my brother's head, Cas. After that, it's up to Sam. It's his head you broke, so it's his call."

Castiel stood there for a moment, his eyes flashing between the coat and the man he would always call a friend. Slowly, he shucked Emmanuel's sweater. He could no longer hide. He couldn't just turn around and walk away from it all, not now that he knew what he had done. He had to fix it, no matter what. He pulled his worn coat on slowly, like a warrior putting on their armor.

Dean was right. He had screwed up. He had broken…everything. The trust of his brothers, his promise to humanity to watch over them, the world. He had torn it all down in his pride. But one of the things he treasured about his friendship with Dean was that he always put the truth in cold, hard terms. Sam knew how to soften the blow, but Dean knew how to put the truth into terms that could not be misunderstood. Castiel knew what path he had to take. He was an honorary Winchester, and he had work to do.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thanks for reading. I hope you guys enjoyed. Please leave me a review. I'll see you guys next week.


	144. The Accidental Dr Phil

**A/N:** Hi everyone! Welcome back to the next chapter. I hope you all enjoyed the last one. Thanks to bagelcat1, Colby's girl, hectatess, shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod, and Bjester74 for leaving reviews. It is much appreciated.

This chapter is tagged to 7x18, _Party On, Garth_. You have no idea how much I wanted to include Garth in this one, but I feel like Sam and Dean needed more of a heart-to-heart than they got. The title is inspired by a conversation I had with Bjester74. "Dean is like the least qualified person to be Dr. Phil, but he always ends up playing shrink to Cas and Sam."

 **A/N:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

 **The Accidental Dr. Phil**

"…Alright, well call us if he wakes up or, you know, anything…Yeah, fine…Thanks for your help, Meg." Dean hung up his phone and tossed it on the bench seat next to him. "What a bitch," he muttered to Sam, sitting in the passenger seat and, finally, looking semi-okay. It had been about a week since they had left Cas at the mental hospital, but there was nothing they could do. It was too dangerous to bring him on the road with them, and there was no way in hell they could stay in town until he was feeling better. It was better for them to go their separate ways, for now.

"So, Cas is the same, then?" Sam asked, his voice tinged with guilt.

"Yeah, down to the drool," Dean shrugged. "By the way, how's your custard?" Dean glanced over and gave his brother a once over. Sam had slept for the better part of the week, leaving Dean to case out the safest places for them to crash. They hadn't hunted at all, spending all of their time dodging the demons and Leviathan who wanted them dead, and making sure that Sam was okay.

Sam shrugged in return. "It's alright. It's getting better. Just wish it wasn't like the damn tape from _The Ring_. I mean, I feel like I'm okay 'cause I passed on the crazy."

Dean was already shaking his head. "No, you didn't. You heard what Cas said."

"Let's—let's not," Sam argued, not wanting to get into this argument. "You know what—"

Sam was cut off by Dean's ringtone, but the look on Dean's face when he answered was enough to let Sam know that he was not going to be getting his way this time. He listened to Dean talk to some person named Garth, the name ringing a faint bell but Sam was unable to match a face to the name.

By the time Dean got all the information from Garth, Sam hoped that Dean had forgotten the argument that had begun brewing between them.

"What's up?" he asked as Dean clicked his phone closed.

"Hunt in Junction City, Kansas. Garth needs our help. You up for this? I can always drop you off and take care of it myself." One glance at the concern written across Dean's face and Sam felt himself softening. He had scared Dean, probably worse than he had scared himself, and Dean was hardwired to protect him, so whatever Sam was imagining his brother going through when he'd woken up and found him gone, Dean had probably been going through ten times worse than that.

Sam reigned in his frustration about being handled with kid gloves (again) and took a calming sigh.

"I'm good, Dean. Promise."

Dean nodded. "Good. Now, what were you sayin' about feeling guilty over what Cas did?"

Sam balked. "Hey, I never said I felt guilty."

Dean laughed. "I'd believe you, if you didn't have those damn puppy dog eyes, and if I hadn't spent every day with you as a kid. Your guilty face hasn't changed much, little brother."

Sam swallowed. He should've felt bad about trying to keep his guilt a secret from Dean, especially since they'd promised no more secrets, but he didn't want to add on to whatever Dean was feeling about the whole situation.

"Is it so bad if I do feel guilty?" Sam asked, casting a glance towards the driver's seat. "I mean, we _just_ got Cas back, and now he's gone again, all because he felt like he had to fix my brain? It doesn't seem fair."

"No, what's not fair is Cas breaking the dam in your head in the first place," Dean replied gruffly. "He's just fixin' what he broke. He screwed up, and now he's got to pay for it."

Sam stared at his brother in shock. "Really Dean? Are you serious?"

Dean looked at him with a steely look in his eyes. "I told him the same thing I'm tellin' you, Sammy. When I made a deal to bring you back, I paid for it. I spent 40 years in Hell. When you let Lucifer out of the Cage, you spent 180 years down there to make up for it. Now, it's Cas' turn. He let the Leviathan out and put your brain in a blender. Whatever the consequences are, he can deal with 'em."

Sam swallowed. "So, what? Am I not allowed to feel guilty about it? He's in that place because of me."

"No, Sam. He's in that place because of him. Just like me in Hell. It was my choice, and I wasn't about to let you take the fall for it. You chose to spring the Devil from the box, and you wouldn't let me help you. Cas chose to team up with Crowley, be a dick, and tear down Death's wall. You can feel bad about it, but you can't feel like it's your fault. Because it's not. Cas made his bed. Let him lie in it. If this is the only way for him to do that, then that's good enough for me."

Sam sighed. "Dean, I know what he's going through. Having Lucifer in your brain…it's torture. You can't eat, you can't sleep. He sits there and talks _all the time_. No peace, no quiet. And now Cas, _our friend_ , is going through that. It almost killed me. It could kill him. Are you really okay with that?"

Dean ran a hand through his hair and across his neck. "Honestly, Sammy…I don't know. I made my peace with Cas being dead. Finding him alive again was a shock, but, honestly, I'm still pissed about what he did. I ain't ready to forgive him for that yet. Does he deserve to die? No, not really. But if that's the only way to make things right? I dunno, maybe this is the only way."

Sam nodded slowly, not necessarily agreeing with his brother, but understanding where he was coming from. Dean had killed people for hurting Sam before, so obviously he would be willing to let Castiel die if it meant saving him. Sam didn't agree with it at all. They couldn't trade lives like that. But what's done was done, and Sam couldn't turn back time. So, in a way, Dean was right. He had to move on and fix the problems that were immediately in his path, and hope that Castiel recovered.

"So, what's up with this hunt? And who the hell is this Garth guy?"

Dean grinned and started detailing the last hunt with Garth, and what the man had told him over the phone. Sam felt his guilt shrink a little at the sight of his brother's smile. He hadn't seen it in a long time, and it felt good—it felt _normal_ —to see it again. Things were slowly but surely going back to normal.

* * *

 **A/N:** And, of course, things can never stay normal with the Winchesters. I hope you all enjoyed the chapter. Please leave me a review and let me know what you thought. We are slowly but surely winding down with season 7, and then it's on to season 8. Thanks to all of you who have stuck with me, and to all who have joined along the way. Much love.


	145. The Natural Order

**A/N:** Hey gang, and welcome back. Thanks to Reggi, bagelcat1, hectatess, shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod, and waitingforAslan for the reviews to the last chapter. They were truly heartwarming.

This chapter is tagged to episode 7x19, _Of Grave Importance._ I hope you all enjoy the chapter. Please leave me a review to let me know what you thought.

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

 **The Natural Order**

At their first pit stop out of California (taking a wide arc around Stanford, despite Sam's assurance that it was okay), Sam came back from the bathroom to find Dean standing at the trunk of their weekly junker, flask in hand.

"What's up?" He looked up, hoping not to see Bobby standing nearby. Not because he didn't want to see Bobby, but because it would be kind of hard to explain to those milling around the outdoor market.

"Is it weird that Bobby's probably listening right now, and we just can't see him?" Dean looked at him, a strange desperation in his eyes. "It's weird, right?"

Sam shrugged. "I mean, I guess. Maybe?"

Dean scoffed and scratched at his stubble. "Sorry, Bobby," he mumbled, tossing the flask in the trunk before locking it tight. "Make sure I don't forget that, yeah? Don't want to give the guy who finds this thing a heart attack when a crabby dead hunter shows up in the back seat."

Sam nodded solemnly as they climbed back into the car.

"So…uh…the natural order?" Sam asked a few minutes later as they were speeding down the freeway, no destination in mind.

"What about it?" Dean groaned.

"I just mean, you know, how often have we followed the 'natural order'? We literally had Atropos up our asses over how many times we've avoided death. It was just a little weird to hear you talking about the natural order when we've come back so many times I—I've lost count," Sam said, looking over to his brother with concern. He'd honestly been surprised to hear what Dean had said to Bobby. He knew Dean used to have strong feelings about dead people coming back, but his comments had been a little hypocritical considering their multiple rebirths.

"Exactly."

Dean's one-word response had Sam taken aback.

"Dean—"

"Sammy, do we have to do this now?" One glance at his younger brother gave Dean his answer. "Look, man. I ran from a reaper, remember? Tessa? I wasn't ready to go yet. I wasn't about to let you and Dad fight without a referee, we hadn't gotten to old Yellow Eyes yet, and you and I had just gotten our crap together again after school. I wasn't ready to give that up yet." Dean shot him a small smile, which Sam gratefully returned. School was still a little bit of a touchy subject with both of them, but they had been back together for so long that all the hurt and pain that had come out of Stanford had waned into the background, only coming out in bursts of insecurity and self-hatred. "But she told me what would happen to me if I didn't go on with her, and, in the end, before Azazel got to her to get to me, I was gonna go with her. I didn't want to go full Swayze, having to watch you guys and not be able to do anything about it. And I sure as hell didn't want to go full Poltergeist. Bobby had a choice, man. He didn't have to stick around. He could be up there right now, shooting the breeze with Ash and Ellen and Jo. Hell, maybe he and Dad could even patch things up in the afterlife. But here? With everything Bobby knows and the full hate-on he has for Dick Roman? That's gonna turn him vengeful crazy quickly, and I don't want to have to be the one that puts him down when he does…" Dean trailed off, embarrassed of how much he had let spill out of him. "I don't know, man…We already said goodbye to him once, and that was bad enough. Now that we might have to do it again? I don't know if I've got that in me."

"I get it, Dean. I do," Sam murmured, curling in on himself as much as he could in his seat. He was lucky enough that the Impala was fairly spacious, but these clunkers were wreaking havoc on his back and knees. "I've come back too, remember? And I may not remember all those times, but I do remember the empty feeling. Like, knowing you don't quite fit the same as you used to. Like, your skin doesn't fit properly or something. It's awkward and uncomfortable, but it goes away because we get used to it. Maybe Bobby will get used to it too."

Dean shot Sam a look. "When have we ever gotten that lucky?"

Sam shrugged. "Maybe this time we do."

"Yeah, or maybe Bobby goes Paranormal Activity, and we have to gank our uncle!" Dean smacked his hand against the steering wheel. "He shouldn't've put us in this position, Sam. He knew the risks and—"

"And he's _Bobby_!" Sam interjected. "Dean, if anybody knew the risk of going ghost, it was Bobby. He obviously thinks he can handle it."

"Yeah, just like Cas thought he could handle the Leviathan, or how you thought you could handle Lucifer, or how I thought I could handle going to Hell. Team Free Will? More like Team We're Freaking Kidding Ourselves!" Dean sighed sadly. "Look, Sam. I wish I could feel happy about this. I really do. Like you said, I was looking for signs that he stuck around. But now that he's here? It's just…it just feels wrong. He should be at peace right now, not looking out for us. He deserves to be up there with Ellen, Ash, Pamela, and Jo. Not cleaning up our mess. He did that enough when he was alive."

Sam sat quietly, pondering what Dean had said. He could understand where his brother was coming from. Bobby did deserve a peaceful afterlife, but he couldn't deny that he was damn happy to see him again. It was comforting to Sam to know that Bobby was still looking out for them, but, for Dean, it was a sign of things to come. When Bobby went vengeful, as Dean obviously expected him to, Dean would be the one to put Bobby down, to protect Sam from having to go through something like that. Sam just hoped it wouldn't come to that.

"So…" Sam cleared his throat, casting around in his brain for a more lighthearted topic. "You and Annie in the foxhole huh?"

"Nope!" Dean shouted. "We are not talking about that!"

Sam chuckled. "But—"

"No, Sam! I never needed that much information about you, or Bobby, and now that I have it, I'm gonna do my very best to forget it!"

* * *

 **A/N:** Well, I hope you all enjoyed that chapter. The episode content was heavy with Bobby returning, so it was kind of inevitable that the corresponding chapter would be heavy too, but I tried to lighten it up as best I could at the end. Please review to let me know what you thought. I will see you all back here on Tuesday.


	146. Doubly Blessed

**A/N:** Hi everybody, and welcome back! Oh, and Happy Summer to anyone on the northern hemisphere! Hope we can all enjoy the warm weather. Thanks to Bjester74, ThornsHaveRoses (x10), bagelcat1, shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod, hectatess, and waitingforAslan for the reviews. You guys are awesome.

So, this chapter is tagged to episode 7x20, _The Girl with the Dungeons and Dragons Tattoo._ Hope you all enjoy, and hope you all leave a review to let me know what you think.

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

 **Doubly Blessed**

"Dean, baby…do you understand?" Mary murmured, carding her hand through her three-year-old's hair as they sat on the couch. John was crouched in front of them, looking between them in concern.

The news of a second baby had taken them both aback. They'd been having their problems lately, with John's PTSD rearing its ugly head in the wake of his commander's death and Mary becoming a little stir crazy after being domestic for so long, but one moment of weakness on both of their parts had led them straight to the doctor's office for the news. Now, with the worst of the morning sickness over, John moving back in, and Mary seemingly accepting her role as mother over hunter, it was time to reveal the good news to their son.

The only problem with that was that, in the ten minutes since they'd told Dean, he hadn't said a word. They'd explained everything. How the baby would be there in May, how Dean would be a big brother, how he'd have to help take care of the baby. How the baby would be small, but how he or she would get bigger. How they would have to be careful with the baby. They had expected him to have questions. They had expected to have to hush him while they tried to explain. But he hadn't said a word. Dean just sat there, little hands clasped in his lap, staring out into the middle distance.

"Dean? Bud, you okay?" John asked gently, placing his hand on Dean's knee and shaking it softly.

"Did I do somethin' wrong?" Dean whispered, crocodile tears pooling in his green eyes.

John would have laughed if it hadn't been so heartbreaking.

"No, of course not, baby!" Mary quickly cuddled Dean closer to her, pulling his head to her chest. "Why would you think that?"

"'Cuz you 'placing me!" Dean sobbed, unknowingly cuddling closer to his unborn sibling as he wrapped his arms around his mother's waist and shifted his head to her still-flat stomach.

This time John did snort out a small laugh. "We're not replacing you, pal!" John shifted onto the couch and laid a comforting hand on Dean's back. "How could we? You're our little man!"

Dean sniffled. "But the baby…"

"We've got enough love in our hearts for both of you, baby," Mary smiled gently, wrapping her other arm around John's shoulder. "I love your Daddy, and you, and your baby brother or baby sister."

Dean looked up and smiled. "Really?" At Mary's nod, he quickly turned to his father for confirmation.

"Yeah, pal. I love your Mommy, and you, and the little one cooking in Mommy's tummy right now. Promise."

Dean's eyes opened wide. "Mommy, why is the baby in your tummy?"

Mary and John shared a look of wide eyed panic. They had explained that they were having a baby, but not where that baby was or why he or she was there. They certainly hadn't explained the mechanics of how the baby had gotten there.

"Well, Dean, pal…you know…"

"Baby, sometimes…well…the baby…"

Dean looked at Mary with all the fury a three-year-old could possess. "Mommy, did you eat my baby brother?"

This time Mary was the one who cracked and laughed. John was already shaking with laughter, and his wife's laugh only pushed him further over the edge. Dean sat between them, arms crossed, and a pout on his face.

"No, baby. The baby has to stay inside Mommy's tummy to stay safe until they're big and strong enough to come out and meet you," Mary said, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes.

"When can I meet him?" Dean asked, looking at her stomach as though his sibling might burst out like a scene from _Alien_.

"Summer time, pal," John chimed in, finally getting himself under control.

"But, Dean, baby…it might be a little girl. You might have a little sister, okay?" Mary said, rubbing a hand across his shoulders.

"No!" Dean said stubbornly, crossing his arms again. "No girls! I wanna baby brother!" He turned his teary-eyed gaze on Mary, his bottom lip quivering. "Please, Momma! Can I please have a baby brother? Pleeeeaaaase!"

Mary chuckled and pulled him close. "That's your Daddy's department, kiddo," she whispered, eyes directly on her husband, knowing there was no way her son had heard her comment.

"Well, it's a little late to be putting in requests now, beautiful," he whispered back, chuckling again. He wrapped his arm around his beautiful little family and prayed that Dean would be this excited when the baby actually arrived.

* * *

To Dean's delight, when his father woke Dean up at Ms. Chancey's house to let him know that he was a big brother, the baby did end up being a bouncing baby boy. One look at Samuel Alexander Winchester, and Dean was hooked on the feeling of being important. John and Mary had impressed on him that the baby would grow up looking up to him, but Dean took it to a higher level with his level of dedication to both his mother and his little brother.

It was something that had never waxed or waned through Dean's life. His dedication to his family never went away or got buried beneath other things, like the hunt.

During Sam's early months, John and Mary had speculated on whether or not things would have been different if Sam had been a Samantha. John tried to argue that his little man's dedication didn't depend on gender, but Mary saw something between her two boys, a connection that transcended everything material. They needed each other, that much was apparent from a young age, and it was a sight to behold.

* * *

"Good luck saving the world," Charlie commented, raising her hand in a Vulcan salute. "Peace out, bitches."

Dean watched as the redhead handed her bag to the bus driver and climbed on the Greyhound bus. Dean liked her. She was quirky and funny.

"She's kinda like the little sister I never wanted," he commented to Sam.

Dean had never wanted a little sister. Back then, he had despised the little girls at his daycare. They were icky. He had obviously grown out of that, and quickly, but he was still glad that life had blessed him with a little brother instead. Still, it looked like life had blessed him with a little sister too.

* * *

 **A/N:** Hope you all enjoyed that! Please leave a review to let me know what you think. Enjoy your week/weekend, and I will see you all back here on Tuesday!


	147. Two Sides, Same Coin

**A/N:** Hi everyone, and welcome back! A belated Happy Canada Day to any Canucks reading, and an early Happy Fourth of July to my American readers. Thanks to hectatess, ThornsHaveRoses (x2), Keeper of Oz (x3), Colby's girl, bagelcat1, and shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod for the reviews. I honest to Chuck love reading them.

So, this chapter is tagged to 7x21, _Reading is Fundamental_ , aka Kevin Tran and Crazy Cas. I hope you all enjoy the chapter. Please leave me a review to let me know what you thought.

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

 **Two Sides, Same Coin**

The second Sam turned 14, it was like a switch was flipped in his brain. He realized that there was a way out of hunting, and it was through his education. If he worked hard, got all As despite all the moving around, and did as many extra-curriculars as he could in his limited time, he could probably get a scholarship and get out.

When that happened, Sam really threw himself into his school work, more so than he already had been. He would stress himself out in his attempt to keep up with the curriculum each year, even doing extra studying at libraries to get ahead. He would've pulled all-nighters if Dean had let him, but his big brother took his role as protector seriously. Unfortunately, all the stress he was putting himself through was really starting to weigh on him.

"Sammy! You here?"

Sam didn't reply. He didn't want Dean to know what a failure his little brother was. He couldn't do it. He had three essays due, a midterm test, SAT prep, and a diorama to build for his biology class. His AP classes were really starting to weigh on him, and he just couldn't keep up on top of all the hunting and research their dad wanted them to do.

"Sam! Where the hell are you?"

He wasn't sure if he subconsciously made a noise in response to his brother's growing concern, or if Dean's brotherly instincts just led him to the bathroom, but all of a sudden, there he was, leaning in the bathroom doorway.

"Sammy? Y'okay?" Sam started to nod but ended up shaking his head instead. "Okay…what happened?"

"I can't do it…" Sam whimpered.

"What?"

"I can't do it!" he exploded, standing up from his position on the dirty bathroom floor. "I can't do it! I can't finish all my papers, study for my exams, build my diorama of a stupid mitochondria, _and_ research the dumb Carter brothers! I can't do it, Dean! I just can't!"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Dean shouted over him, placing his hands on Sam's shoulders before turning him and pulling him in close, arms wrapped tightly over his arms and chest. Sam felt the tightness in his chest wane slightly, but his rapid heavy breathing prevented it from going away completely.

"C'mon, kid. In and out, just like me. C'mon now…" Sam let his head fall back to rest on Dean's chest and tried to match his breathing. "There you go…nice and easy…"

Sam took a final sigh and felt the final iron bands around his chest fall away. Dean's arms soon followed after a quick slap on the chest.

"Sorry…" he muttered, attempting to sidestep Dean and go back into the main room.

"What the hell, man?" Dean stood directly in the doorway, blocking the only way out.

"Dean, can we please not?"

Dean looked him dead in the eye for a moment before stepping aside and exiting the bathroom.

"Sam? Sam!"

"Dean, please!" Sam dropped heavily onto his bed and laid back, suddenly exhausted. "I don't want to talk about it."

"I don't care; we're gonna talk about it, Sam. You scared the crap out of me!"

"Sorry…"

Dean sat next to him and shoved him over so that he could look at his brother's face. "Why didn't you tell me it was getting too much?"

Sam shrugged. "I dunno."

"I think you do."

Sam sat up and pulled his knees into his chest. "I guess I thought I could handle it, and didn't realize how much it was all piling up."

"Well, next time let me know, alright? Don't leave it so long that I find you having a freaking panic attack on the floor," Dean lowered his head and rubbed the back of his neck, causing a jolt of guilt to run through Sam's spine. Dean was already trying to deal with so much, even after dropping out of school. He didn't need Sam's burden as well.

"Dean, it's okay. I won't let it happen again."

Dean turned and smiled ruefully. "Not always gonna be in your control, kid. But if I don't know you're struggling, how the hell am I supposed to know what to look for?"

Sam lowered his eyes to his lap and played with a loose thread on the bedspread. "Not much you can do about it though, Dean."

"Bull. I can help, at the very least." Sam grinned a little. He should've known that Dean would offer his help. "And I can figure out how to help prevent another panic attack. Okay?"

Sam nodded. "Okay, Dean."

"Good." Dean clapped as he stood. "Okay, so what was that crazy list of crap of you've got to do?"

"Three essays, a midterm exam, SAT prep, bio diorama, and research for Dad's case," Sam recited, the list having been burned into the inside of his eyelids for the past two weeks.

Dean whistled. "Alright, well I'll deal with the hunt." Sam raised an eyebrow. "Shut up, I _can_ research, you know. I don't like to, but I can. So, take that off your list. Now, can you ask your teachers for extensions on your essays? You're already smarter than everyone else in that school, so that shouldn't be a problem."

Sam's eyes drifted close as he listened to Dean's litany of ideas, comforted in knowing that he had someone like Dean in his corner.

* * *

Over the years, Dean had developed multiple tactics to help Sam get over a panic attack. Soft rock radio stations as ambient noise, long drives out of town, meteor showers when he could find them. Matching his breathing, or, when he wasn't around, breathing into a paper bag, would always help.

Kevin Tran actually reminded Dean a lot of Sam. The kid was stressing himself out of school and the future, and then he was thrust into the world of the supernatural because he was 'chosen'. That's why Dean chose to sit in the kitchen with the flight risk prophet instead of with Sam, Cas, and Meg.

He had only had his eyes closed for a few moments when he heard the familiar hitchy breathing.

"Kevin?" he asked, eyes still closed, hoping it wasn't what he thought it was.

"This is all too much!" the young prophet claimed in a panicky voice. "What's happened to my life? I'm just a kid from Michigan! I don't want to be a Word Keeper!"

Dean slowly and wearily took his feet off the table and stood, moving to the kitchen counter for the brown grocery bag.

"Looks like we're brown bagging it," he muttered, shaking the bag to open it.

"I am not prepared to factor the supernatural into my world view!" Kevin continued as though he hadn't heard Dean's comment or even noticed that he was on the move.

Dean pressed the bag to his face and pushed on his shoulder to seat him back at the kitchen table. The reaction was automatic. Kevin grabbed the bag and started breathing heavily into it. Dean smiled to himself. It had been a long time since he'd had to deal with a 'stressed about being normal' egghead, but it was nice to know he hadn't lost his touch.

"Okay, there we go," Dean patted him on the back. "That's it. That's it. Just breathe. Take it easy."

Kevin's breathing slowly evened out and Dean patted him on the shoulder once more before moving away to give him space.

"Oh, I don't know, man. What can I say? You've been chosen." Kevin glared at him from over the bag, and Dean smirked. "And it sucks…Believe me." Dean shook his head. Kevin and Sam. Two sides of the same damn coin. "There's no use asking, "Why me?" 'Cause the angels – they don't care. I think maybe they just don't have the equipment to care. Seems like when they try, it just…breaks them apart." Dean settled himself back into his seat and put his feet up.

Kevin dropped the bag and sighed. "I just want to be the first Asian-American President of the United States."

" _Yeah, and Sam just wanted to be the first hunter's kid to make it out alive."_ Dean thought scornfully. _"We don't always get what we want. Life ain't fair."_

"So, do your homework," Dean replied instead, gesturing to the tablet.

That was one of the coping tactics he had developed over the years with Sam. Getting him to concentrate on the task at hand instead of all the 'what ifs' and 'could bes'. So, he tried it with Kevin. He couldn't take Kevin away from the situation, but he could get him to focus on putting one foot in front of the other, and, hopefully, they'd come out the other side of this thing relatively unscathed.

* * *

 **A/N:** I hope you all enjoyed the chapter, and I hope my American friends have a good and safe holiday. Please let me know what you thought through a review or a PM. I will see you guys back here on Tuesday!


	148. Dean Winchester's Relationship with Food

**A/N:** Hey everybody and welcome back. I hope everybody had a good week(end). Thanks to jham768, hectatess, bagelcat1, Colby's girl, ThornsHaveRoses, shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod, waitingforAslan, and ayosb2000 for the awesome reviews. I'm glad you guys enjoyed the chapter. I hope you all enjoy this one too. It was a little tricky to write, but I hope you guys enjoy.

This chapter is tagged to 7x22, _There Will Be Blood._ Again, not my favourite episode (I feel like I've said that a lot this season), but I hope the chapter is decent enough. Please review to let me know what you thought.

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

 **Dean Winchester's Relationship with Food**

Dean loved pie. It was no secret. You could place any kind of pie in front of him, and he'd look like he'd seen the face of God. Blueberry, strawberry-rhubarb, lemon meringue, key lime, and, of course, apple.

Mary used to bribe him with pie when he was a kid. When he didn't want to go play at the neighbourhood playgroup, she would tell him that there would be pie waiting for him _only_ if he went out to play for a few hours. When he didn't want to go to sleep, Mary would threaten to throw out the leftover pie, and she'd find him in bed with his eyes tightly shut within seconds. Pie was his mother's treat to him, and, in adulthood, he was constantly reminded of her whenever he ate the sweet treat. So, when the opportunity for pie presented itself, he never, ever passed it up.

Dean's eating habits frustrated Sam. He knew that their father had raised Dean on burgers, fries, onion rings, steak, and any other food that appealed to any red-blooded American man, and unfortunately that food triangle didn't include vegetables. Dean's aversion to anything green and leafy worried Sam, because he had plans on keeping his brother around for as long as possible, and his eating habits were just another thing on a long list of things that could potentially take his brother away from him. Sam could understand the connection to pie, even if he couldn't understand the obsession, and he always rationalized to himself that there was fruit in pies.

Dean also loved peanut M&Ms. They were bright and colourful and tasty. His dad always bought them on long car trips between hunts as a way to shut him up. A hungry Dean was an irritating Dean, and the small candies were the easiest way to keep him quiet. Unfortunately for John, he always ended up eating at least half of the package, a fact that his eldest son always teased him about. After Sam left, while Dean and John were still traveling together, Dean would always make a point of picking up a few packages of the candy to share with his father, the treat doing its best to bridge the growing gap between father and son.

Dean still loved the candy, all these years after his father died. They were a good energy boost. They were an awesome addition to trail mix. Most importantly, they reminded him of better times with his father, before he drove Sam off and became more of a commander than a father. They reminded him of nights driving down the freeway, just him and his father with Sam asleep in the backseat. They were bonding moments, just like with the pie. They were a connection to his family, who was often so far removed from him.

It was the same reason Dean actually liked cold pizza and warm beer. They reminded him of Sam and all the motels and abandoned houses they lived in through their childhood. More immediately, it took him back to that small shanty just outside of Cold Oak and the best day of his life, despite him having just sold his soul.

With so little permanence in his life, food was one way that he could keep those memories with him.

* * *

It was their first meal at Rufus' cabin after getting Cas back. Meg had gone back to the hospital to cover up their tracks, and Kevin was with Dean trying to decipher the tablet, which left the task of dinner to Sam and the still slightly addled Castiel.

One quick run into town later, Sam, Dean, Cas, Kevin, and Meg were sitting around the kitchen table in a tense silence that was only broken by Dean's appreciative groans as he shoveled slice after slice into his mouth.

"Screw this," Meg grumbled, shoving away from the table and walking out the door. Kevin flinched as the front door banged shut before mumbling something about going to the bathroom and fleeing the tense room.

Castiel peered around the rapidly emptying room and stood, gliding out of the kitchen.

Dean grunted, gesturing his head that Sam should follow the angel. "Make sure that Forrest Gump doesn't take off again, 'kay?"

Sam nodded and quickly followed, catching up to Castiel as he reached the couch and sat.

"Uh…Cas?" The angel in question blinked owlishly up at him. "You okay?"

Cas smiled serenely up at him. "Kevin left because the tension was too much for him," he replied simply.

Sam chuckled. "Yeah, I gathered as much."

"That's why Meg left as well."

Sam nodded. "Yeah…Cas—"

"Do you think Dean eats so much because he worries about where his next meal will come from?"

It was Sam's turn to blink. "What?"

"Dean. He always eats more than is necessary, and I was wondering if it was left over from some deep-seated childhood trauma about worrying where food comes from," Cas continued innocently.

Sam felt his heart leap into his throat. He'd always known that Dean's eating habits weren't exactly healthy. Like their father, he often forgot about food while in the middle of a hunt, the most glaring examples being when he was worried about Sam or when Lucifer was wandering about in the world. His aversion to anything remotely healthy was worrying as well. But the thought that his eating habits were the result of what he went through as a child made Sam feel…well, guilty. He knew that, when they were children, Dean would give up food so that Sam could eat, and he knew that their father wouldn't leave them enough money to keep them fed for as long as he would be gone.

Maybe Cas wasn't wrong. Maybe Dean's issues with food came from his childhood, which only served to break Sam's heart.

* * *

"Hey, man, I'm going into toxic shock, okay?" Dean whined, following Sam around the Gas N' Sip in Hoople, North Dakota. "I-I-I need my road food!"

"That's what Roman is banking on," Sam calmly explained, hoping his brother wouldn't completely lose it. Dick Roman had already taken a lot from them. The Impala, Frank, Bobby. It seemed like food was the final strike for Dean.

"Hey, hey!" Dean smiled, holding up a slice of blueberry pie in a plastic container. "This one says 'natural'. Th-that means it's safe, right?"

Sam swallowed as he replaced the container on the shelf. "I hate to break it to you, but corn syrup _is_ natural, technically." He hated doing this to Dean, especially when the hesitant smile on his face slowly fell to a downtrodden look that almost broke Sam's heart.

"Well then, what the hell are we supposed to eat?" Dean groaned as Sam held up a basket of bananas and bottled water.

Sam knew that Dean would throw a fit over the change in his diet, but Sam almost saw it as a positive. If this would force Dean to eat healthy, then Sam was okay with it. Sam Winchester planned on having his brother around for a long time, and if a healthy diet was the result of a race of prehistoric monsters taking over the food additive industry, then so be it.

* * *

 **A/N:** I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. Please let me know what you thought with a review. I will see you guys back here on Tuesday!


	149. When I Drive

**A/N:** Hi everyone, and welcome to the final chapter for season 7! Guys, we made it. Rewatching season 7 for this story made me rethink my dislike of this particular season. It's by no means my favourite, but it wasn't as bad as I remember it being. The Dick jokes were overkill, losing Bobby was tragic, and having no Impala really sucked. But the Levithans were a decent enough villain because they took so much from the boys. They didn't hurt them physically (not too much anyway), but they hit them really hard in the heart and that's not something we see so often in a Supernatural Big Bad, other than Lucifer and Ruby. Anyway. Thanks to newbie10, shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod, hectatess, waitingforAslan, bagelcat1, and ThornsHaveRoses for the reviews to the last chapter, and thanks to everyone who reviewed this batch of chapters for season 8. Hopefully you guys will continue to stick around for season 8, which I'm almost done writing.

So, this chapter is tagged to 7x23, _Survival of the Fittest_. I hope you guys enjoy. Please leave me a review to let me know what you thought.

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me. The title of the chapter comes from a song from the tragically short lived Bonnie and Clyde Musical starring Jeremy Jordan ( _The CW's Supergirl_ and _Disney's Newsies_ ) and Laura Osnes ( _Roger's and Hammerstein's Cinderella_ and _Broadway's Bandstand_ ) of the same name.

* * *

 **When I Drive**

Sam stood on the front steps of his school, arms crossed tightly across his chest, and fighting the desire to tap his foot in impatience. His Dad was supposed to be there an hour ago to pick him up, but apparently his youngest son came last on his father's list of priorities…again.

Sam wished that Dean had a car, because he knew that his big brother would never forget to pick him up from school but having a second car was always deemed too 'impractical' and 'unnecessary' for their family. The Impala was practically Dean's anyway, but their father stubbornly claimed ownership of it when he needed to go out of town.

Sam sighed as he hitched his backpack higher on his shoulder and started down the stairs. It wasn't a far walk to the school, only two miles as his father constantly reminded him, but Sam was exhausted. There had been a hunt the night before that kept them out until 3 o'clock in the morning and, rather than stay home like his brother had gently suggested, Sam had stubbornly attended all his classes. That, plus the extra weight of his AP textbooks, meant that the two mile walk back to the apartment was going to feel more like eight miles.

Sam had barely reached the driveway of the school when he heard the familiar growl of the Impala's engine. Sam sighed in relief as the black car pulled up next to him. He wrenched the passenger side door open and slid in, depositing his bookbag on the floor before turning angrily on the driver.

"What the hell, Da—Dean?" His older brother sat in the driver's seat with his black sunglasses covering his eyes and a stupid smile on his face. "I thought Dad was picking me up?"

"Dad had to go, little brother. Hunt in North Dakota. He's gonna meet up with Uncle Bobby and probably grab a couple of hunts out that way while you finish up the school year," Dean explained, the smile never wavering.

"And what? He just decided to leave the car here?" Sam scoffed. "I think the fumes from the garage are starting to go to your head, man."

Dean gave Sam a light smack on the back of his head. "Nah, smartass. He _gave_ her to me."

Sam could only gawk. "Yeah, the fumes are definitely going to your head."

"Shaddup. Dad said it was getting too cramped with the two of us and your gigantor legs, plus apparently I won't stop bitching about having to ride shotgun, so he finally bit the bullet and decided to give her to me."

"Bull."

"Nope," Dean grinned, allowing the 'p' to pop playfully. "Now, shut the door, buckle up, and hold onto something. This is gonna be fun!"

Sam did what his brother said and held onto the door handle as the Impala rocketed down the road.

Sam could remember the first time he had ridden in a car that Dean was driving. Dad had gotten himself banged up on a hunt and needed more than motel room surgery, so Dean had driven them to the hospital with John lying in the backseat with a broken leg giving gentle reminders on how to drive the beast of the car. Dean had only been 14, but Sam hadn't been surprised to hear that his father had been giving his eldest son driving lessons since he was 12.

Since then, John and Dean had taken turns, rendering one-night motel stays a thing of the past, as the two would switch off during the night to allow the driver to get some shuteye. Sam had long since been used to sleeping in the Impala, but something about knowing that Dean was driving always made him sleep a little easier. It was as though Dean had the magic touch when it came to the old car. She, as Dean insisted on calling the car, would do things for Dean that she wouldn't do for their dad, and Sam knew it. It made him feel safer, and more at home, when Dean was behind the wheel.

Sam looked over at Dean in the driver's seat, driving the car that finally actually belonged to him, and smiled at the content look on his brother's face.

"Hey, Dean?"

"Yeah, Sammy?"

"Will you teach me how to drive?"

Dean looked over at him and smiled gently. "Sure thing, kid. But if you wreck my car, I'll friggin' hang you, got it?"

Sam laughed. "Sure, Dean. Whatever you say."

* * *

"Sammy! Sammy, get out here!"

Sam put down Kevin's instructions for the spell, triple checking that they had all the ingredients and knew how it worked. Dean would insist that he be the one to gank Dick, and Sam wasn't about to take any chances that his brother would get hurt in the process. He took one last glance at the table holding the vials of blood and the bone, and walked out the front door of Rufus' old hunting cabin.

Dean was standing next to the Impala, grinning broadly as he ran his hands over her smooth frame, the frame that he had so lovingly built and rebuilt time and time again.

"Hey, you got the car!" Sam called happily. He would never admit it, because Dean would never let him live it down, but he had missed the Impala. The roomy front seat allowed for him to ride without his legs cramping up, and the scent of gunpowder, leather, and Dean's preferred brand of bubblegum smelled like home.

"It's the final inning, man. We need all of our players, which means Baby gets to come out of retirement!" Dean crowed, bending down and placing a loving kiss on the Impala's hood. Sam grinned and shook his head ruefully. He'd never truly understand Dean's obsession with their dad's old car, but he didn't have to. Seeing her sitting there in the driveway made Sam feel something he had been lacking for a long time…hope.

* * *

Sam stumbled out of Sucracorp, not quite sure which way was up and which way was down. Crowley had taken Kevin. The prophet had seemed so scared but so determined to do the right thing by the people of Earth, and now he was just…gone. Gone like Cas. Gone like…gone like Dean.

His brother had disappeared in a blast of pure white light, taking Castiel and Dick Roman with him. Crowley wouldn't tell him where they were, or if they were even alive. Again, Dean was just gone, but, this time, Sam didn't even have a body to bury. He was stuck in a sort of limbo, half expecting Dean to pop out of the forest surrounding the modern looking building, brushing himself off, and laughing about how they had finally laid Dick Freaking Roman to rest.

The sight of the Impala stuck in the shattered glass of the Sucracorp sign stopped him dead in his tracks. The normally pristine black paint job was scratched, the windshield was going to need replacing, and Sam could see a few dents in the front bumper. Dean was gonna be so pissed…

Sam lurched towards the car at the thought. Dean wasn't there. Dean couldn't fix the car.

" _It's time. You should know how to fix it. You're gonna need to know these things for the future. And besides…that's my job, right? Show my little brother the ropes?"_

Sam shut himself into the car that had always screamed _safety_ and _security_ and _Dean_. It took him only a moment before he lost his composure completely and crumpled over the steering wheel. The Impala had been his home for so long, but now? Without Dean? Sam didn't know if it was worth having her back. But, Sam knew one thing for sure.

" _Hey, you better take care of that car. Or, I swear, I'll haunt your ass."_

Sam heaved, stemming the flow of tears that had unknowingly begun to stream down his face. He reached down, silently thanking Meg for leaving the keys in the engine, and cranked the key. The growl of the engine wasn't as comforting as he remembered, but he doubted anything could comfort him now. But, he was a Winchester. And he had work to do.

* * *

 **A/N:** Well, I hope you guys enjoyed the final chapter for season 7. Tune in next week for the first chapter of season 8. It's my longest chapter to date, and I've had it written for years, so I really hope you guys enjoy it. Please leave me a review to let me know what you thought.


	150. 10 Monsters You Meet in Purgatory

**A/N:** Hi everyone! Hope you guys had an awesome week(end). Thanks to KeeperofOz (x5), LauraJ42 (x3), bagelcat1, mak2018, Guest, ThornsHaveRoses, Colby's girl, hectatess, Rain321, and shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod for the reviews. I love hearing what you guys have to say.

So, this chapter is tagged to 8x01, _We Need to Talk About Kevin_. Loved, loved, loved this episode, even though the premiere supremely hurt my heart. Which is why I'm giving you guys a slightly longer A/N this time around. I am a Dean girl, but I firmly believe that you can't be a Dean Girl (or a Sam Girl) without loving the other brother equally as much or as much as the brother you love loves their brother. That being said, was I pissed right off at Samuel Winchester when I watched this episode? Yes. Yes, I was. Did I understand to a point? Of course, and I try to lay that out in coming chapters. So, sometimes I'll come off as anti-Sam, but I want you guys to know that I'm not. I'm struggling to see Sam's perspective this season, but I am trying to redeem him in my own eyes which will hopefully come across in my writing. So, with that said, I welcome you to the one hundred and fiftieth chapter of this fic. Please review at the end!

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

 **10 Monsters You Meet in Purgatory**

Like Hell, time passed differently in Purgatory. Maybe it was the constant fight for survival. Maybe it was the lack of day or night, resulting in everything having a grey overcast. Or maybe it was the fact that everything in Purgatory was—or was _supposed_ to be—dead. Maybe that included Time.

Regardless, when Dean Winchester met Benny Lafitte, it felt like his first day in Purgatory. Kind of the way you make a friend on the first day of Kindergarten. But really, it wasn't his first day. Hell, it wasn't even his first week. He didn't meet Benny until his sixth month in Purgatory. Dean was alone for months after Castiel abandoned him, leaving him alone to deal with all of the monsters who were out for his blood.

Speaking of, Castiel was, technically, the first monster Dean met in Purgatory. The friend he had just forgiven for wrecking the world and breaking his brother, just up and abandoned him.

"Every soul here is a monster," Castiel had informed him. "This is where they come to prey on each other for all of eternity."

"We're in Purgatory? Well, how do we get out?"

"I'm afraid we're much more likely to be ripped to shreds," Castiel had replied solemnly before flying off, leaving his supposed friend in the dust.

Finally, Dean had a chance to take in his surroundings. Trees, trees, and more trees. Glowing red eyes surrounded him as various monsters moved closer and closer. But where was Sam? He had been in the room with him, protecting Kevin Tran. Was he here too?

"SAM!" Dean shouted, praying that he would hear his own name bellowed in return. "SAMMY!" No response, to which Dean was both relieved and distressed. "CAS! CASTIEL!" Nothing.

A rustling of leaves behind him put him on his guard. Wielding only the bone of Sister Mary Constance, Dean cautiously approached the bushes on the left side of him, the red eyes glaring back at him. "Whoever or whatever you are, I am not in the mood!" he yelled, holding the bone up like a javelin. The rustling stopped. The red eyes considered him thoughtfully, and Dean put his arm down, hoping that the yelled threat was enough to dissuade whatever it was in front of him from attacking. That was when she pounced.

The werewolf landed on top of him, fangs bared and nails tearing through his skin. Dean struggled to get his arms out from under him to dislodge her when, suddenly, she stopped. Her nails and fangs shrunk back into her skin, and her eyes slowly turned back into the warm chocolate brown they had been in life.

"Dean?"

"M—Madison?"

She skittered away from him, back towards the trees. "But—but you're human! How are you here?"

"Honey, all I know is I ain't in Kansas anymore!" Dean scoffed. "Took out a monster so evil I got a free ride to Monster Heaven." He stood up creakily, brushing his dirty hands off on his jeans and offering a hand to help her up, ignoring the bleeding gashes on his forearm.

She allowed him to hoist her up, but kept her distance. "Dean, I'm not sure I understand."

"It was that God damned Dick!" Dean swore. He should have known that standing too close to exploding Dick would have major consequences. "Madison, you got any idea how I hitch a ride out of here?"

Madison shook her head sadly. "There is no getting out. Only survival." The words were barely out of her mouth before howls and growls began echoing through the woods around them.

Dean was already shaking his head, ignoring them. "No, I'm getting out of here. Sam's probably already out there shaking trees and kicking bees' nests trying to find me. I ain't gonna let him down."

Madison nodded slowly. "Then I wish you luck, Dean." The howls grew closer and were soon accompanied by snarls that shook some of the bushes. She turned to him, the red light already beginning to glow in her eyes. "Run. I'll hold them off as long as I can."

"Madison, I—" Dean stopped as she looked at him, half-way through her transformation. "Thanks."

She nodded once, then howled at the sky.

Dean ran and didn't look back.

* * *

Dean was running again. A mob of rugarus was after him, spearheaded by freaking Jack Montgomery. He thought he had lost them when all of a sudden, he was pinned to a tree chest first.

"Hi, _Daddy_!" A young female voice spat before whirling him around.

Green eyes met hazel as Dean gulped back the sudden emotions that hit him. They were his father's eyes; his brother's eyes. "Hi Emma."

Emma Winchester released her grip on her father, thinking that he was weaponless. "So, what is this? Did Daddy decide to come and save his little girl from the big bad wolves?"

Dean chuckled ruefully. "Sorry kiddo, no can do. Daddy's gotta save himself and get back to Uncle Sam."

Emma laughed scornfully. "Really? Your brother killed your daughter, and you'd still prefer to be with him than me?"

"What can I say, kid, Sammy's never tried to kill me before." " _Well, never in his right mind, anyway_ ," Dean silently amended.

"Oh no, I understand. I'm just still pretty pissed that _Uncle_ Sam killed me, so I'm afraid that I'm going to have to finish the job that I started." Emma stalked towards him, eyes flashing dangerously.

Dean found himself pressed back up against the tree. He tried reaching behind him to pull his knife out of his back pocket, but Emma pinned his arms before he had the chance. He closed his eyes in preparation for that final death blow, but only heard that uncomfortable squelch that came from beheading.

Dean popped one eye open and found himself face to face with—

"Lenore?"

"Dean." Her fangs retracted and she let Emma's headless body fall to the ground. "I heard a rumor that a human had gotten into our neck of the woods. Should've known it was one of you Winchesters."

Dean jerked his head towards where he knew Emma's head had fallen, but refused to look there. "Thanks for the assist."

Lenore nodded. "No problem. I figured you boys helped me out a couple of times, so I owed you one."

Dean shook his head. "We put you here, you don't owe us anything."

"Dean," she murmured, placing a hand on his arm, where the scratches from Madison were barely healed over. "I'm here because I wanted this. Freedom. Don't go blaming yourself, you hear me?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Good. Now you'd better keep moving. There's a pack of werewolves east of here, and a pretty nasty nest of vampires to the north, so if you keep running south, you should be fine."

"Thanks Lenore."

With a nod, the two went their separate ways.

It was shortly after meeting Lenore that he met his second 'friendly' vampire in Purgatory.

Benny was kind of a dick, but he said that he knew how to get out of Purgatory, and that made him the highest bidder for Dean's friendship. The two of them teamed up, then met up with Cas not long after.

It was then that Dean ran into a not-so-friendly vampire.

He was strong. He was fast. He knew all of Dean's tells.

He had left clues for Dean to follow, making him believe that Sam was there, looking for him.

Castiel had tried to warn him. If there was another human in Purgatory, he was sure they'd know. Something about Souls and Auras and Lighthouses; Dean wasn't sure. But seven months away from his brother, the desperation to get back to him was pressing against every survival instinct Dean had. He'd gone off half-cocked on his own and come face to face with Gordon Walker.

"Dean," he greeted from a low-hanging tree branch, as though they were old friends who had bumped into each other at a bar.

"Hey Gordo," Dean grimaced back, gripping his knife tightly. "Fancy meetin' you here."

"That's funny, Dean. Your Sammy was the one who put me here. So yeah, real cute." Gordon kept his eyes on his knife, which he was using to clean out his fingernails.

"Well, you were the one who got turned into a bloodsucker. That's not really on Sam."

Gordon stood and took the one step drop to the ground. He met Dean's eyes and sneered. "And how is Sammy anyways?"

"Oh, you know. Same old, same old. Probably trying to jerry rig this place open and yank me out. Regular Tuesday for us," Dean kept his cocksure grin on his face despite his sinking stomach. It had been months, and Sam still hadn't gotten to him. Dean did his best to brush off the anxiety that filled him, considering it had taken them a year to open Purgatory before. But Sam knew the ingredients. He'd do the spell. He'd get him out.

Gordon seemed to be able to read his mind, if the growing Cheshire cat grin on his face was any indicator. "Really? You know, the other fuglys in here talk. They're all gossiping sons of bitches, but they love talking about the good old days of the Apocalypse. The Apocalypse that your Saint Sammy caused. I told you Dean, he's a monster. If only you had listened to me."

In a flash, Dean had Gordon trapped against the tree, knife against his throat. "You still haven't gotten it, huh Gordon? You mess with Sam; you deal with me. And this time, there ain't gonna be an afterlife."

Gordon flung him back, and Dean crashed against the hard forest ground. Gordon stood over him with a morose grin on his face. "Hate to break this to you, Dean-o, but I don't think Sammy's looking for you. Last time he did, he started an Apocalypse. Why would he want to do that again?"

Gordon barely got the last word out of his fanged mouth before his head fell off, Dean's blade covered in blood. "You never did know when to shut up, Gordon," he muttered as Castiel and Benny ran into the clearing.

"Dean, what happened?" Castiel came up behind his shoulder, staring down at the quickly disintegrating vampire corpse.

Dean barely spared him a glance before looking over at Benny. "We've got to get a move on. How much further is this portal of yours?"

"Still about a hundred miles to go, brother," Benny replied.

"I'm not your brother, Benny," he murmured, so quietly that nobody heard him. "Let's go," he demanded in a louder voice. He half-turned to Cas, keeping his eyes on Gordon's rotting corpse. "I've got to get back to Sam, Cas. He's not gonna give up on me; I can't give up on him. I gotta get out of here."

He barely took a step in the direction Benny had pointed before he got jumped by black smoke.

* * *

Dean woke up tied to a tree, surrounded by three faces he had hoped to never see again.

"Hey Dean-O," Azazel grinned, yellow eyes flashing. Alistair leaned against the next tree over, flipping his knife over and over, reminding Dean so much of Jo that he almost gagged.

An elbow leaned against Dean's shoulder. "Did you miss me?" Ruby whispered, leaning her head on her hand close to Dean's ear.

"Oh, goodie. The Douchebag Parade is here. Or do you prefer the Three Douches? The Three Musketdicks?"

"Dean, Dean, Dean. I always did love your witty banter. Still acting so strong, so untouchable, but you're still the broken boy from Hell, aren't you?" Alistair hissed, slashing at Dean's chest with his knife.

"Hey, cool it, Alistair! We need him!" Ruby cried, taking a menacing step towards him.

"Oh yeah, sweetheart? And what exactly do you think I can do for you?" Dean rolled his eyes at her.

Ruby pressed herself up against him, holding her knife under his chin with just enough pressure to break the skin. "You're gonna get us out of here and take us to Sam, so we can finish what we started," she hummed in his ear, grinning as he began to struggle.

"You stupid bitch! You go anywhere near Sam; I'll kill you! I'll tear you apart!"

"Why? All we want is the Apocalypse we all so rightly deserve," she whispered, dragging the dull edge of her knife up and down his throat. "Azazel set you on this path. Alistair broke you. I broke Sam. I'd say an Apocalypse is our just rewards."

"You demons are such bothersome little pests, aren't you?" A condescending voice rang from a few yards away. "You and humans are so alike. You flit around, trying to do your bidding, but what ever comes of it? Nothing! You stop humans, humans stop you. An endless cycle. It's boring, really."

Dean craned his neck. He knew that voice. He knew the smarmy, British tone it held.

Balthazar stepped out of the forest on his right side, coming to stand a few yards away from the demons, with Dean in between them.

"Balthazar? You've got to be freakin' kidding me," Dean kicked the tree he was tied to, and felt his bonds loosen a little as the tree shook.

"Oh, I disappointed the hairless ape. How incredibly shocking." Balthazar rolled his eyes and continued to inch forward, hands behind his back.

"I didn't think angels went to Purgatory…" Ruby whispered, looking back at her two companions.

"Yes, and I didn't believe that demons would be permitted to spend their afterlives in a locale other than the Empty, so it seems that we were all very naughty…"

Dean tuned out the snarky banter between the two sides and turned his attention to wriggling out of the bonds that he had accidentally loosened.

"Well, this really has been fun, but the evolved monkey and I really must be going," was the phrase that cut through his focus, just as the vines holding him to the tree gave way.

Alistair responded with a low, sinister snicker.

"Do you really think we're going to let Dean go with you?" Azazel asked condescendingly.

Dean dropped the vines and jumped in between the two parties, his Purgatory blade out in front of him. "Yeah, sorry gang, but I'm not going with either of you. I've got a boat to catch."

"Ugh, you really are an imbecile. What Dad ever saw in you humans, I shall never know," Balthazar scoffed as he marched forward and placed two fingers on Dean's forehead.

A flash of white light later, and Dean was standing next to Balthazar, facing Benny and Cas.

"Dean? Balthazar?" Cas looked incredulous, more so than usual.

"Brother dear." Balthazar rolled his eyes.

"Hey…uh…Balthazar, thanks for the save." Dean reached his hand out to shake.

Balthazar scoffed. "Adorable. Truly, I'm touched. However, I must be off. I don't exactly feel like dying again, so I bid you all adieu. Exeunt, stage left." With another flash of light, Balthazar disappeared.

Cas kept his eyes on the patch of dead grass that Balthazar had appeared and disappeared on while Benny questioned Dean.

"Cas? Cas, come on, we gotta go," Dean said urgently.

"Yes, yes of course." Cas kept his eyes trained on the spot until Dean forcibly turned him to face him and Benny.

"Cas, we've got to get out of here, now. Benny says the portal is just over that hill. Let's get a move on."

* * *

Dean sat behind the wheel of the Impala. His hands were clenched white around the steering wheel. His eyes were trained on the cabin that, up until five minutes ago, had been his dream destination for the past eleven months or so. His chest ached. His stomach roiled. With little control, he slammed his head down against the steering wheel and closed his eyes.

Sam. His Sammy. His little buddy. His Geek Boy. His brother. He hadn't looked for him. He just…hadn't.

Dean yearned for the simplicity of Purgatory, where he could kill anything that ticked him off. It had been peaceful; he hadn't lied about that. It had been grey in colour, and black and white in morals. Kill or be killed. Easy. Dean was the one who made it complicated. All because he'd been so convinced that Sam would never stop looking for him, and he had never had it in him to disappoint his baby brother.

Dean wrenched his head back and looked at his reflection in the rearview mirror. Did Sam see what Purgatory had done to him? He'd been a mindless, soulless killing machine for close to a year. Had Sam somehow sensed that change in his brother, and decided not to look for someone so…evil? If Dean looked closely, he thought he could see a flicker of blackness behind his eyes. He had killed hundreds of beasts in Purgatory, some of which he knew. Did Sam see that darkness in him now too?

It didn't really matter to Dean if Sam saw it or not. Dean could see it. Dean was a monster. He had to be. Why else would Sam not look for him?

* * *

 **A/N:** So, that's the longest chapter I've written so far, and it's also a chapter I've had written for a long time, which is why there are characters there who we know wouldn't be in Purgatory, but I did my best to amend any mistakes. I hope you guys enjoyed. Please leave a review, and I will see you back here on Tuesday.


	151. Whosoever Be Worthy

**A/N:** Hi everyone, and welcome to the next chapter and the final day of July! For those of us in the northern hemisphere, that means summer is almost over and some of us (including this author) will be going back to school in September. Let's make this last month of summer count! Thanks to Bjester74, bagelcat1, DearHart, waitingforAslan, hectatess, ThornsHaveRoses, mak2018, and shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod for the reviews and excellent conversations that came out of those reviews. I love how open and supportive this fandom is, and I love that we can disagree without arguing! It truly is wonderful.

This chapter is tagged to 8x02, _What's Up, Tiger Mommy?_ It's a bit of a different take on the episode, and I hope you all enjoy. Please leave a review or PM me to let me know what you thought.

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

* * *

 **Whosoever Be Worthy**

"So, you actually ganked the sonofabitch with Thor's legendary hammer?"

Sam looked up in surprise. Both he and his brother had been dead silent since they found Kevin's note about bolting because he didn't want Dean to kill them. Sam had no clue what kind of thoughts were running through his brother's head, but he definitely knew they weren't the good kind, and Sam had no idea how to reach out to his brother. They hadn't exactly been on good terms since Dean's return, and Sam could only blame himself. He'd abandoned his brother. It didn't matter how much it had almost killed him; it didn't matter how wrecked he had been, even with Amelia. It didn't matter how terrified he had been. Whatever Sam had gone through, Dean had gone through ten times worse, and Sam hadn't been there to try to help him.

"Uh…yeah. I guess I did."

Dean grunted in a semi-impressed way, which put a shade of a smile on Sam's face. Things may be strained with his brother, but there were some things, like smashing a Norse god in the face with a mythical hammer, that would never change between them.

"Even if you've got the hair to match, I ain't calling you Thor." Dean chuckled and reached over to turn up the heat, even though it was warm for October. It was a quirk that Sam had noticed since Dean had come back from Purgatory: he always seemed to be cold. Cold, damp, filled with monsters. Kill or be killed. A dead Castiel. And Sam had just left him. Dean pulled his hand back from the controls and ran it over his cheek and chin, a wry smile on his face. "I guess that means you're worthy, huh?"

"What?"

"Oh c'mon, you know! Worthy!"

"What do you mean? Worthy of what?"

"Dude!" Dean shot him an incredulous look. "Don't tell me you forgot! You used to go nuts over those comics when you were a kid! Thor was about the only Marvel character you cared about." At Sam's continuing blank look, Dean sighed, long and deep. "Unbelievable. It was like your entire childhood, and you forget it, just like _that_." Dean snapped his fingers, and Sam flinched, his brother's words weighing heavier on his soul than he thought even Dean knew.

"I don't know what you mean," Sam muttered, pulling his jacket closer around him.

" _Whosoever holds this hammer, if he be worthy, shall possess the power of Thor_!" Dean boomed. "Remember? Only the biggest badasses in the comics could wield the mighty Mjolnir!"

"You remember its _name_?"

Dean scoffed. "You _don't_? You picked the damn thing up!" Sam shrugged innocently, and Dean chuckled under his breath. "Unbelievable."

They sat in silence a few moments longer.

"You know, they made a _Thor_ movie last year…" Sam started hesitantly, not sure if the mention of Dean's missing year would set them back a step, especially now that conversation was flowing between them easily.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, apparently they got some big Aussie dude to play Thor, and Anthony Hopkins is Odin."

"What do you mean ' _apparently_ '? Didn't you see it?"

Sam shrugged again, uncomfortably this time. Amelia had mentioned wanting to go see it because, according to her, her Dad proudly raised a comic book geek, but Sam couldn't bear it, not really. Comic book movies had been something he and Dean had always watched together, ever since the first time they watched Michael Keaton's Batman face down Jack Nicholson's Joker (thus beginning Sam's fear of clowns).

"Didn't feel like it."

Dean grunted. "Not like you didn't have all the time in the world to see it."

Sam sighed sadly. He didn't want to fight with his brother. He got it. He screwed up. He hadn't followed that one unspoken rule that they always followed, no matter what. He knew it would take a while, but he hoped that Dean would eventually forgive him. It's not like he had done it to spite Dean, or to hurt him.

"It should be out on DVD by now," Sam suggested hesitantly. "We could see if the video store has it and get a DVD player in the next motel room."

Sam waited on baited breath. He felt like a six-year-old again, desperate for his big brother to talk to him, pay attention to him. Except, this time, it wasn't a broken toy or a torn comic book that made Dean mad at him; it was broken trust.

Dean grunted. "Yeah, I guess we could do that. If you want."

Sam nodded, he hoped not too eagerly. "You know, apparently they alluded to Thor at the end of the last Iron Man movie…"

Dean glanced at him, eyebrows raised. "Seriously? When?"

"According to the fan websites, Marvel does these post-credits scenes that hint at what's coming next."

"Huh…" Dean stuck out his lower lip and nodded thoughtfully. "I wonder if they had one in the first Iron Man?"

Sam looked across the bench seat, grinning slyly. "Marvel movie marathon?"

Dean grinned back at him for a moment before he sobered, turning his attention back to the road. "I don't know, man. We've got a runner, Crowley's got the Hell tablet…I don't know if we have time." Sam nodded, a little disappointed, but completely understanding. The hunt had to come first. "Maybe once we make sure that Kev isn't going total kamikaze, we could do it." Sam looked up, smiling, and found Dean with a small smile gracing his features.

"Yeah, that sounds good."

Dean reached down and pulled out the old cardboard box of tapes, balancing it on his knee as he braced the wheel with his other knee so he could rifle through it. Deciding on one, he pulled it out and shoved it into the Impala's tape deck. Sam grinned ruefully as the opening chords of AC/DC's _Thunder Struck_ started playing.

"Gotta honor the God of Thunder, right?" Dean called above the music.

Sam turned away to face the window, his expression slowly losing its smile. Dean could joke all he wanted about Sam being Thor, but Sam knew the truth. He definitely was not worthy of the 'powers of Thor', whatever they were. He'd left his brother stranded in a land of monsters, and Dean still managed to make him feel better, even when he was making him feel guilty. Sam wasn't worthy. He wasn't even close.

* * *

 **A/N:** Oh, look. I made it sad.

I hope you all enjoyed the chapter. Please leave me a review to let me know what you thought. If it seems like this chapter (and coming chapters) are anti-Sam, please believe me when I say that's not what I'm going for at all, and that I'm definitely playing the long game when it comes to Sam's mentality this season. Have a good week(end), and I will see you all back on Tuesday!


	152. co Berkeley University

**A/N:** Hi everyone, and welcome back to another chapter! Thanks to mak2018, bagelcat1, ThornsHaveRoses, hectatess, Colby's girl, shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod for the reviews on the last installment. I'm glad to see it was well received.

This chapter is tagged to 8x03, _Heartache_. Not my favourite episode. The hunt/monster stuff was really cool, and I loved seeing Dean get back into the swing of things, but the whole "Sam never had a birthday cake" thing was such BS. We all know Dean would have bent over backwards to give Sam a good birthday as a kid, and that Jess probably baked him one every year they were together, so let's not play games, SPN writers. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter. Not gonna lie, it's not my favourite chapter in the world, either, but I hope you guys will still review and let me know what you think.

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing recognizable belongs to me. I'm also Canadian, and I have zero clue how college admissions work in the US, so forgive me for any factual discrepancies.

* * *

 **c/o Berkeley University—Admissions Department**

Admission's Essay by Sam Winchester

To: University of California, Berkeley

Prompt: _Tell us what has brought you to this point in your life._

"Bad things do happen; how I respond to them defines my character and the quality of my life. I can choose to sit in perpetual sadness, immobilized by the gravity of my loss, or I can choose to rise from the pain and treasure the most precious gift I have – life itself."

Walter Anderson spoke those words, and I never truly understood them until now. I suppose what I am trying to do in this essay is to explain why I am attempting to go back to school at this point in my life. Understand that trying to earn brownie points by showing you how my life has been one marked by loss at a young age is the last thing on my mind.

Loss is a funny thing, in a completely non-humorous, completely self-pitying way. My mother died when I was just a baby, but I barely remember her, and her loss is barely a sting 30 years later. As someone who never grew up with a mother, I never truly wanted for one. I knew what a mother was supposed to do, but I always had someone else filling that void in my life. I believe that is what Anderson is trying to say in his quote. We cannot continuously mourn; we must find a way to fill that void. I have done it before, and that is what I am trying to do now.

I was accepted into Stanford's humanities program in 2001, with a full-ride scholarship. I intended to graduate with my HBA and enter Stanford's prelaw program in order to become a defense lawyer. In a twist of fate, my plans burned along with my girlfriend Jessica exactly 22 years after my mother's death by house fire. I abandoned my dreams of law and comfort to go on a whirlwind road trip with my big brother, Dean. Dean was the one who filled the mother-shaped void in my life, and there he was, doing it again.

The road trip continued for much longer than I ever expected it to, but I was content with that. We saw 48 of the 50 states, met some interesting people, and had many losses along the way. My father passed just over eight months after Jessica died, and for the first time, I was placed in a position of having to take care of my brother. It was a weighty responsibility that, despite the circumstances, I shouldered with pride, knowing that it was my turn to take care of him.

We lost two of our closest friends to a tragic accident three years later. Our uncle passed three years after them. But the worst losses were the near-misses with my brother. For years, it seemed like accident after accident was trying to take my brother away from me. It did not seem fair to me that, just as we were beginning to be brothers again, fate or destiny or some sick higher power was trying to separate us.

I feel like I should explain that last statement. When I got into Stanford, my father kicked me out, stating that I was being selfish by putting my own needs above those of the family. Because of that, mixed with my own stubbornness, I lost out on four years with my brother. I know that I will never get that time back, but, in a way, Jessica's death helped me regain that bond of brotherhood that was lost through college.

Now, however, Dean is gone. No near miss, no Hail Mary thrown to save the day. He's gone. And the ache that rips at my chest still, 8 months after his death, nearly incapacitates me on a daily basis.

I got sick a few years ago, and told Dean that, if the worst were to happen, he should move on with his life. Dean always dedicated his life to me, our father, and the family business, never truly attempting to achieve something of his own, something for himself. If I were to die, I wanted him to do that, to do what I did. Go out and find something that was just his own. A girl, a family, and a house with a picket fence. Obviously, I got better, but the point is, I think Dean would want that for me too. Now that he's gone, I think he would want me to go out into the world and go after the dreams I put on hold all those years ago, instead of hiding from the world like I have been since he died.

I didn't know my mother. The last time I spoke to my father before he died, we argued. My uncle died suddenly, as did our family friends. I don't even remember what my last words to them were. I don't remember my last words to my brother. I've spent the better part of my life with my brother, and I can't remember the last thing I said to him before he died.

Dean was always better with the comforting, which surprises most people. If you saw him, you would understand why people are surprised to hear that. Stereotypical tough guy. Takes after our Marine father. _Took_ after our Marine father. But he was so good at comforting people. Whether it was a hot meal or a good song on the radio, a heartfelt speech or even just a few meaningful words, he always knew how to make me feel loved and wanted. I was never as good at that; not with him, at least. He knew I loved him, but I was never that great at showing him that.

My life has been filled with bad things. I've lost literally everyone I've ever cared about. I don't really have a home, or a lot of belongings. What I do have reminds me so much of my brother that it gets difficult to breathe. His loss has put me over the edge but applying to school and attempting to pull my life together again is the best way I can pay tribute to him and thank him for everything he's ever done for me. That is how I'm responding to my situation. I have to rise—if not for me, then for my brother, who never got the chance.

* * *

Sam plugged the USB key into the side of the computer and saved his application essay onto it. The email from Berkeley's admissions department had hurt Dean badly enough; Sam shuddered to think how seeing a college application would affect his brother. Plus, if Dean actually read it…

Sam wasn't about to tell his brother how deeply Dean's year long absence had scarred him. It wasn't like when Dean was in Hell. When Dean was in Hell, Sam still had Bobby, and he had a plan. A crappy plan that almost wrecked the world, but a plan nonetheless. This time, Sam had been alone. Completely alone in a crappy world that had taken everything that had ever mattered away from him. Until he hit Riot and met Amelia. They had helped prop him back up and stitch him back together. The cracks still showed, but they were slowly healing.

And this time wouldn't be like the last time. He'd drag Dean with him, kicking and screaming if he had to. Even if he couldn't convince Dean to give up hunting, he could make the effort to keep in touch better. He wouldn't let it be like the last time.

Sam swallowed his guilt as Dean's earlier words echoed in his ears.

" _I know where I'm at my best, and that is right here, driving down crazy street next to you._ "

Sam's eyes scanned his essay one more time, his eyes catching on the paragraph where he spoke about all the things Dean had ever done for him. The niggling thought of _"Why can't I do something for Dean, and just_ _ **stay**_ _?"_ itched at the back of his mind, but he shut it down. He was doing this for them, not for himself. Dean had died so many times already, and Sam had had enough. He would save his brother, and save himself. Leave the saving of the world up to someone else.

* * *

 **A/N:** Well, I like the ending bit better than the beginning, but you guys let me know what you thought of it and how it could be improved. Hope you guys have an excellent week and I will see you back here on Tuesday. Much love!


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